Past Future Continuous
by HermitsUnited
Summary: Episode 1 in Virtual Season 5. Donna Noble saved the Universe. And what has she got in return? The Doctor abandoned his most loyal companion? Can he live with his own decision? There's someone bearing a grudge. Will he have his payback? Welcome to DW-5.
1. Alone in the Blue Box

I realised that I owe BBC a disclaimer. Here it is:

_Characters from Doctor Who universe are not mine, they belong to BBC. Thank you, BBC, for giving us such a fantastic show!_

And - This is a translation of my story "Czas Zaprzyszły," originally written in Polish. I apologise for any weirdness resulting from my attempts at writting in a foreign language. But, it is a good exercise, and a lot of fun as well, so... what the hell, I'll try:) "Past Future Continuous" is a first episode in a virtual series five, set after the fourth series, soon after the Doctor's solitary departure.

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**DOCTOR WHO**

THE VIRTUAL SERIES 5 – EPISODE 1

**PAST FUTURE CONTINUOUS**

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**.1. Alone in the Blue Box**

* * *

Who have ever seen the Doctor circling the TARDIS slowly, shoulders hunched, the face contorted with pain? Not so many people for sure. He really, _really_ tried to avoid being seen in one of his low moods. Whenever he felt this pain inside his old soul, he would try to hide it underneath an airy, carefree mask. He felt it was easier to cower in silence, than to face pity of humans. It was easier to pretend, than to face beasts howling deep in his memory.

That was why he usually pirouetted around the core of his ship, rhythmically switching handles and pushing buttons, much like a conductor and a musician in an orchestra of one. And usually he simply _wanted_ to dance, because he loved the TARDIS, he loved freedom she offered; the whole of space and time opened in front of him like a multicoloured fan. And when he really _didn't want to_, at least he felt obliged by the presence of his companions.

But this time he had no companion; the only background for his thoughts being the singing of the TARDIS, the humming of the ancient machinery and clicking of handles being moved.

Again, he faced the whole universe. The whole of time. All the places and moments he had not yet seen; creatures he had not yet met; things cruel and beautiful, funny and scary. Of course he could – even now – see the universe in a blade of grass, perceive it's endlessness in a drop of water. Undoubtedly there was always something worth living for...

Worth living for... Always...

He removed a sodden suit jacket, but a wet shirt was still clinging to his skin. Drops of water were still dripping from his rain-soaked hair. Oh, how grateful he was for that rain, so handy in hiding treacherous tears from Wilfred, Donna's Grandfather.

Ooooh, maybe not hiding...

Ooooh, who cared, anyway?

He had stood earlier in front of the Noble's house, talking to Wilf across the threshold, but he had known that they were indeed separated by entire worlds... universes. The cold rain, an unpleasant result of an atmospheric agitation, had troubled the Doctor's world. From the Doctor's world you could only peek through the half-open door into the house brimming with soft, orange light, with smell of freshly brewed tea, with muffled sound of voices. Well, you could even get inside. But you could not stay. Not for long. Not forever.

_I am just a traveller. That is what I do – I travel._

_And it means I can never stop for a long time._

_("You are running away" said Davros. "You are running away from yourself.")_

Slowly, the Doctor moved away from the cockpit, leaving the TARDIS adrift; he did not set any destination – the blue box hovered in the temporal orbit, sailing freely across the time and space. If the TARDIS was listening to his thoughts (_and usually she quietly did just that_) she must have felt a painful consternation. The only thing the Doctor wanted was to go home, but his home had burned in the fires of the great war, had been locked in time, and there was no way left for the TARDIS to fulfil her master's wish.

The Doctor leaned against the pylon and pushed his fists deep into pockets of his trousers. Big, dark eyes grew even larger in his narrow face as he looked ahead, unseeing, across the ship hull's walls.

This time yesterday all his friends had been there. Gathered around the ship's cockpit they flew her together, the way she was supposed to be flown. Bound by one will, one feeling, one goal, one friendship. Triumphantly hauling the whole planet, saving the world. Saving the Earth.

For them.

_Not for me_.

There was Sarah Jane Smith; amazing Sarah Jane, whom the Doctor left in Aberdeen instead of Croydon so many years ago; to whom he was unable to return after the Time War. Sarah Jane, who had been waiting for him so long, she had almost missed the rest of her own life.

There was Mickey Smith; Ricky; Mickey the idiot; who had lost the love of his life, but found courage, strength and devotion.

There was Martha Jones; Doctor Martha Jones; trusty Martha, whom he had led along the toughest path. Martha, in whose hand there was the Osterhagen key and the destiny of the entire world.

There was Jack Harkness; charming Jack; crazy Captain Jack of Torchwood, who had once flown to the end of the universe holding for his dear life onto the TARDIS's door; Jack, who had died for the Doctor, and whom Rose willed back into endless existence.

Even Jackie Tyler was here, but the Doctor would not let her touch the cockpit – he wasn't mad, or maybe _domestic_ enough, to hand over the steering wheel to his companions' _mothers_.

And there were three people who, unintentionally, hurt him the most.

Hands, stuck deep in pockets, clenched into fists. The Doctor lowered his head and turned the unseeing gaze onto his own worn plimsolls. He pursed his lips so hard they went white. The last raindrop disconnected from the strand of his brown hair and sailed slowly towards the metal mesh floor.

Three people who, unknowingly and without bad intentions, hurt him the most. The human Doctor. Rose. And Donna.

Oh, that crazy sprint towards Rose, sweet Rose, _his_ Rose. The dark street and that wonderful void in his head, hundreds of years and fear of the unknown lost somehow in this thoughtless run towards a dream come true. Honestly, he could have predicted that somewhere – round the corner, in an adjacent street, behind a wrecked car – there would be a Dalek, waiting. Daleks always survived while the Doctor was loosing everything.

Funnily enough, at first he didn't even feel the pain. Something knocked him off his feet in an explosion of greenish light, then he was down, on the dirty tarmac, and all he could see was Rose's face. He smiled...

The pain brought back missing memories, momentarily forgotten knowledge, all he had learnt through his long life. Nothing lasts forever. All things have their time. And everything dies.

There was desperation in Rose's eyes. Desperation and hope. Regeneration. A process which could not be stopped. The Doctor's heritage. Little death. His tenth incarnation was dying, simply and inevitably, but he knew that it was not all about the flesh. He could not fool Rose either. She knew he was changing, heading into unknown. He was, after all, a Time Lord. And he wished so hard he wasn't. And then he knew that his wishes did not matter. Dreams do not come true.

He could fool himself putting the Chameleon Arch on his head, remodelling each and every cell of his body, so that if faked being human, but he was the Doctor, and so he could not hide from his destiny.

He could take Rose for this seemingly never-ending journey, for this crazy run across the universe. And watch her time ticking away. And loose her again.

No!

He said his farewell again in the Darlig Ulv Stranden, the Bad Wolf Bay. Forever this time. As long as he had known that Rose had been alive, waiting, he had hope. Now he let this hope die. At the very moment his human twin was created, the Doctor knew. He observed his friends and realised that he had given each of them the one thing he himself possessed in an endless abundance – loneliness. So there was only one thing he could do – he had to give Rose the Doctor, exactly the same Doctor she had parted with. With the slight difference of giving her a human, not a Time Lord. Who he returned to her was a mortal, imperfect (_oooh, but perfect in so many ways_) human. Because only the human being could lean towards her and whisper in her ear the words for which the Doctor had never had enough time. And only the human could really believe them.

"Rose Tyler, I love you."

Two years ago the Doctor had been ready to say those words. Now he knew that it was true only because they had had no consequence. But with the inter-dimensional void separating them, they could, at least, _know_ what they were loosing.

But everything has it's time. And everything dies.

He turned away from Rose and from his flawed (_oooh, so flawless_) copy and walked towards Donna and the TARDIS.

And again – he knew. It is not easy to be a genius. It is not easy to live with the knowledge of 904 years, the time vortex, and the shared experience of his kind. It is not easy to know.

DoctorDonna. A perfect companion. All the knowledge of the Time Lord bound together with human creativity, with the spark of madness, and with twisted sense of humour. Only Donna could get the idea of _spinning the Dalek_.

He smiled towards his plimsolls. There was darkness in his eyes.

What he did to Donna...

So, how many times he'd been asked: "Would anyone have to die if you were not there?" How many times he asked himself: "Did I just save them from something which wouldn't endanger them in the first place if I never came here?" Of course he knew both answers. Yes and no. In this order exactly. But Donna...

Donna Noble saved the universe. And she could never remember.

Out of all his companions, Donna was the one the Doctor lost the most.

Still leaning against the pylon the Doctor slowly slid onto the floor. He sat down with his hands in his pockets and his knees up his chest, slim as a young boy, in the soaked shirt, the stubborn mess of damp hair falling on his forehead. And so he sat, in silence, motionless, for many, many hours, while the TARDIS sailed slowly across the space.

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	2. I Will Find Him

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**.2. I Will Find Him**

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"_Noooo_!"

"Gee, have you been drunk or what?! Alien sky, some weird... moons, oh, maybe five or more, and those _machines_ shooting people, and then the earthquake, everybody has seen _that_!" Veena used her elbow to pare another attack on the fragment of bar the friends had annexed. Olympic Games on the television drew in the men, who were trying to push their way closer to the 60 inch plasma screen. "Tell'er, Mookie."

"News said it was all just another hoax" Donna shouted, trying to be heard in the pub's racket. One of the needy viewers leaned against her arm. Donna swirled on her bar chair; hands on hips, teasing look in her eyes. "Oi, watch what you grab, mate! Terrorists and hallucinogens."

"Wha...?" The man tried to jump back into the crowd. "What terrorists?"

"Am I talking to _you_?!" yelled Donna. "Now, look at me! Do I _look_, like I'm talking to you?! It's a private conversation, so back off, _prawn_! News at Ten said terrorists put hallucinogens into the water supply."

"All over the world?" doubtfully said Alice, shaking ice cubes at the bottom of her glass. "At the exact same moment?"

"So maybe they let it into the air. Just like the ATMOS; remember how it screwed us then?"

"Now, you've been on Skye then, Mook, so how many cars they've got there in total?" teased Veena.

Donna turned towards her, quizzical look on her face.

"ATMOS? Something happened to ATMOS?"

"Donna, have you been drunk all year?!"

"Why are we discussing this rubbish anyway?" Shaking the thick, ginger hair off her shoulder Donna stood up and yelled at the barman: "Same thing but with cranberry! And peanuts! You want peanuts? No decent guys in this pub, I swear. In all Chiswick! All the world!"

"The one you've just yelled at wasn't that bad" noticed Alice.

"Which one?" Donna looked around, but could not find him in the crowd.

"Long gone. You scared him. But what about _that_ one?" Alice turned her chin towards the young man starring into the screen.

"Too fat."

"Too... too _fat_?! Are you bunkers, Donna? He's a twig!"

"Dunno..." The barman served the drinks and peanuts, so Donna twisted in her chair, turning her gaze towards the pub's interior. "Don't like him, that's all."

"You are _so_ weird recently, you know. Picky. This one no, 'cause of blue eyes. That one no, 'cause of the hair loss. _Hair loss_?! What hair loss, he had great hair! Another one is too stupid, or has a weird nose. You won't meet Brad Pitt in The Plough and Pheasant, that's for sure. You know what? Beggars can't be choosers. Take Nerys..."

"I am not a _beggar_, Mookie!" said Donna shaking her fiery hair. "I can be picky if I want to. I will find him in the end."

"Find _whom_?"

Donna opened her mouth, breathed in, freezing with her eyes starring into space. She blinked, distractedly moved a strand of hair from her cheek and finally breathed out.

"I don't know" she said. "I just don't know."

Taking advantage of her moment of pensiveness, behind Donna's back her friends exchanged telling glances.

* * *


	3. Safe Distance

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**.3. Safe Distance**

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The Doctor slowly opened the door. Long, wispy fingers of the morning mist immediately reached inside the TARDIS. It was dark and cold outside; just a few minutes before sunrise. Several sheep wandered around, chewing on the grass. A stone ruin loomed on the left; a swift little river could be seen through the openings in its walls. A roof of a lonely household was just visible beyond the arching hill and a stone wall. The house's inhabitants were surely asleep at such an early hour, but even if they peeped out the windows and saw a lonely police box perched in the field, they would probably turn away without any interest. The TARDIS had a way of convincing human (and not only human) minds of her right to be exactly where she had just landed.

The Doctor buttoned his long, beige coat, with romantically wind-blown tails; and stepped out onto dewy grass. He marched towards a small plaque with the ruin's plan and name – Ogmore Castle. So he landed nearby Ogmore-by-the-Sea; well, that was a bit of a jump, as he had planned to land in Cardiff.

Well, at least he was in Wales.

Safely far from Donna.

He smiled sadly. "Safely far"? If he really wanted to put a secure distance between them, he could, for instance, fly to the year 5067. To ancient Babylonia. To New-New-New-New-New-New-New-New-New-New-New-New-New-New-New York. Or to Utopia.

(Well, no... Not _there_, thank you).

But he came to Earth. In the year 2009. Seven months since he parted with his friends. Or, from _his_ point of view, just two months since they parted.

In a way Cardiff was as good an excuse as any. At least it was believable. TARDIS had strained herself pretty badly when she was towing the Earth from the Medusa Cascade back to the Solar System. Planet towing was never the strongest point in TARDISes' menu. To be honest, the Doctor had not been even sure if it was doable. Anyway, charging a battery was always a good idea. And the closest temporal rift, emanating required energy, ran through Cardiff. But Jack Harkness was based in Cardiff.

Showing away the coat's tails and as usual putting hands in the trousers' pockets, the Doctor stared at the water running below. He didn't wan to meet with Jack. Not yet.

Two months of silence broken only by the constant singing of the TARDIS. Two months of monologues, cut short, in the middle of the sentence, every time he realised that silence was the only answer. Or every time he thought he actually heard an answer. Somebody's voice in the void of loneliness. Just a voice. More and more often.

He shook his head slightly.

Sometimes he thought he could recognise those voices. Friends. Enemies. Entities met only in passing, both human and alien. One day it was Astrid Peth. On that occasion the Doctor spent several hours standing in the shade of the pylon, waiting. Astrid had never spoken again. Never. Astrid was dead, she was scattered across the universe, just stardust.

The Doctor inhaled deeply, held the cold air in his lungs for a while, and then exhaled, looking at a white wisp of breath escaping his mouth.

"I'm alive," he whispered. "Who would have guessed?"

An elderly man, leading three horses, emerged from the forest on the other side of the little river. The Doctor watched as the man approached the ford made of several flat stones thrown into the river. Horses walked slowly, with bowed heads, swinging long tails. The man noticed the Doctor standing on the grassy slope nearby the ruins and nodded a greeting. His eyes slid across the TARDIS, as dull as it was in the power of the Chameleon Circuit.

The Doctor turned away. He didn't want to talk to the man leading three horses across the grey, Welsh river. He didn't even know why he came there in the first place. With the flutter of coat's tails he walked towards the ship. He outstretched his hand.

"Oi, watch out!"

The Ogmore Castle tumbled down and crashed onto his head and before the elderly man stopped shouting, the Doctor fell into complete darkness.

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	4. The Awakening

Ooo, lucky you, who do not have to translate your stories into foreign languages:). It is a killer, sorry I'm so slow.

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**.4. The Awakening**

* * *

Coming to is the least pleasurable part of the process of loosing one's consciousness. Coming to, one already knows that something bad has happened. Usually, one feels crappy. And not completely understands how on earth one landed in a place, where one is momentarily lying.

Time Lords are almost human in the "coming to" respect. Of course they go through the process much quicker. Which actually means that they have less problems reorienting. And they usually jump up more eagerly.

Jumping up was not possible, because of steel shackles pinning the Doctor's wrists, shoulders and ankles to a steel table. Almost absolute darkness did not encourage reorientation. The Doctor struggled with shackles for a while, but shackles won.

"What?" said the Doctor. "_What_?!"

"A Time Lord." The voice in the darkness was high pitched, disturbing. "The last one, so I've heard. Doctor. _The_ Doctor."

"Right, so I'm famous, and now _take these off_!"

"I like the present arrangement better, Doctor."

"It's a _bad_ arrangement. It's a _stupid_ arrangement. I can't talk in such an arrangement."

"But I prefer it when you are not able to move."

"Who are you? Why did you do that? And handcuffs...? Erm... I see you know me... apparently... why don't you tell me your name?"

"Why should I?" said the voice from the darkness. "I never introduce myself to my subjects."

"Subjects?"

"Test subjects. And usually I don't talk to them. But a Time Lord... I can make an exception for the Time Lord."

"Sub... I'm not a test subject! Take these shackles off me or..."

"No. Doctor."

"Listen, I'm warning you. I'm warning you for the last time. Release me now, and maybe we can still forget about what've just happened here. If not..."

"Then what?"

"I reckon you know me. So, if you really know who I am, you don't have to ask."

"That's the problem, Doctor. It's who you are – all that glaring and prattling. Do you know how I named you? The prestidigitator of words. Because all this, it is just a trickery, nothing more. A great Doctor in a wonderful TARDIS. A great mechanic in a wonderful wooden box. Armed with what? A sonic screwdriver. And what can you do with your sound thingy? Put on my screw?"

"I can do worse things. Much worse," Anger crept into the Doctor's voice. "I realise you still don't get it, but I'm _very_ clever. Don't want to brag, but I'm a genius and I can _always_ find a way out. And I may get interestingly mad. And when I'm mad, people and monsters usually get out of my way. Especially recently, 'cause I haven't been in the forgiving mood. And 'cause there's no one, who could stop me from putting on your screw much tighter than you can imagine."

"Aaah, Donna Noble," teased the darkness. "Much regretted Donna."

The Doctor's eyes widened for a moment.

"Who are you?" His voice was muffled. "_WHO ARE YOU_?!"

"Your greatest fan."

For a while the Doctor lay in silence, breathing quickly, trying to calm down two hearts beating too painfully.

"And I intend to see what it is that drives my idol," continued the voice from the darkness. "What makes you tick. And... oh... when I will find out why you are ticking... You know how it is with watches... So many parts you can never again fit in the bezel..."

"Let me go," said the Doctor quietly.

"Ummm... No."

Something clicked and a bright light flashed over the Doctor's head. Screwing his eyes to protect them from brightness, the Time Lord tried to catch sight of something outside its circle. To no result. He could see, more or less, the same thing as a hare caught in the lights of an approaching train. And he felt just like the hare.

"Do you know what really pleases me?" asked that irritating, high pitched voice. "The fact, that you are so lonely. The fact, that nobody is coming to save you. Nobody even knows where... and when... you are. The fact, that at last I can find out what the Doctor is worth _without_ his men... Ah, and the fact, that I can at last take a peek inside you... I can find out what is bad for the Doctor. What hurts the Doctor. And what can do the Doctor a _really_ big harm."

"Have I done something to you?" The Doctor's voice was just a whisper. "To make you hate me so much?"

His voice grew stronger.

"Identify yourself! Who are you? What is your name? What is your home planet? What is your species according to..."

"The Shadow Proclamation," mocked the voice. "Old dog, new tricks, huh? Never works."

"What? Aaah!" Something pierced the Doctor's skin, finding the vein through the layers of his coat, suit jacket and shirt's sleeves. Something whirred in the shadow, beyond the circle of light, and the Doctor realised that, with dreadful speed, the blood was being pumped out of his body.

"Don't do that. No. Just... Let's just talk... Oh, don't... don't do that."

Cold. He felt cold. His body tried to transport the remaining blood from the extremities to the centre, protecting internal organs and the brain. His teeth clattered as he fought the shackles.

"No."

His breathing was quick and shallow, and he was increasingly frightened. Both his hearts were pounding, trying to compensate the blood loss by pushing the rest of it faster through the arteries. Nevertheless, his body was starting to suffocate.

"I'll regenerate in a moment," he thought. But just then the whirring subsided and needles left his body.

"Yeeesss... Just as we thought," said the voice from the darkness.

"We? _We_ who? Who... who you are? Who...? Wait... Who...?"

"Oh, my dear prince, sweet dreams."

The light went out. It was replaced by complete darkness and complete silence. The Doctor lay on his back in this silence, shivering and trying to catch his breath. He was petrified. He was so frightened. So very alone.

* * *


	5. Wrong Colour

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**

**.5. Wrong Colour**

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When they left the Westminster station, Donna grabbed Wilf's arm. They rarely went to the City together, but the weather being outstanding (especially after five weeks of rain) there were feasts and events on the South Bank, still celebrating the Earth's miraculous return to the bosom of the Solar System, and besides that... it was not like Donna had anything else to do. She still couldn't find the job, or more accurately, she wouldn't stay in any job too long. Temp for the rest of her life – a pretty poor retirement plan, but somehow it seemed to be her destiny. Even Sylvia – her mother – stopped moaning. Donna didn't feel comfortable staying under one roof with Sylvia who _didn't_ moan. Sometimes she thought that her mother must have been seriously ill.

The crowd on the bridge was so dense, that Donna had to hold on to Wilf with all her strength, not to be separated from him by other pedestrians. On her left, out of the Thames protruded a mess of twisted metal rods and beams, decorated by skeletons of viewing capsules, devoid of glass and bulging out of the water like Easter eggs – pitiful remains of the famous tourist attraction, the London Eye.

Blind London... Hmmm?

Wilfred followed her gaze and squeezed her hand even tighter.

"You know what, we could go the other way," he suggested uncertainly. "These tourists make me nervous."

They stopped on the bridge in the shadow of Big Ben.

"Gramps..."

"Well, all right. All right. It just looks horrible. When will they get rid of it?"

"When they've finished with the clock, I s'pose." Donna looked at the tower looming over the Palace of Westminster; the golden-green face of Big Ben was still covered by scaffoldings and sheets of white plastic. "Bloody terrorists!"

"Yeah, but it..." Wilf cleared his throat and started walking quickly, dragging Donna along. "Yeah, bloody terrorists, and don't you swear, young lady."

"Gramps," Donna clung to his shoulder. "It wasn't a swear-word."

"In my times it _was_ a swear-word."

"Not anymore."

For a while they could not talk, their voices drowned out completely by the tune of the bagpiper surrounded by a tight circle of tourists, snapping pictures so as to capture him together with the twisted ruin of the Eye. Donna, using mostly sign language, bought a packet of honey roasted nuts. Double-decker buses and heavy lorries laden with rubble were crossing the bridge.

On the other side they took a wide stairs to reach the embankment, passing by a spindly-legged elephant advertising Salvatore Dali's exhibition. Their way was blocked by a sort of a barricade separating the walkway from the place where people used to queue, to admire London from the heights of cosy, oval cabins. Donna thought that she had never got on the Eye's ride. Now it was too late.

They had to return to the stairs and onto the street, and then turn left, going around the County Hall, to reach the walkway again.

"Fancy an ice cream?" Wilf queued up next to the white trailer coated with Walls' adverts. Donna nibbled at roasted nuts letting the crowd wash over her like waves. She looked at stalls with souvenirs and at a live sculpture dressed in clothes from Shakespeare's times.

And then, unexpectedly, her eyes rested upon the telephone booth; on the red telephone booth, so typical for London; on this postcard image defining the city, appearing almost everywhere on stalls surrounding her, next to guard members in their tall hats, Paddington teddies dressed as a constables, shortbread cookies in their metal tins, double-deckers, images of Princess Diana and red and white underground signs. Donna froze, with her eyes fixed on the booth, oblivious of roasted nuts she was scattering from the bag held in a lowered hand. She frowned, screwing her eyes. Her body tensed as if waiting for something to happen.

"Donna? Donna?!"

Wilfred pushed his way through the crowd, strawberry cornetto in his hand.

"Donna, is something wrong?"

She blinked when he grabbed her arm and turned her towards him.

"DONNA?!"

"It's all right, Gramps," she said hesitantly. "Everything's fine."

She brushed aside her hair and gave him a warm smile, noticing his concern.

"Nothing, really."

And yet, she had to tell him.

"Only... Sometimes... sometimes I fell as if... As if I had left an iron plugged or a gas tap opened... you know, as if I was supposed to do something, something _really_ important, but I can't remember what and why." Her face grew sad. "Sometimes I look at something familiar and I know that it remains me about something else, but I can't remember what it was. Oh, Gramps, sometimes I think, that there's something wrong with me. The girls laugh at me, they say that I slept all last year, or that I was drunk, but I didn't sleep or drink... And mum... She acts so strange when we're together..."

She leaned towards Wilf, whispering nervously.

"And... and I dream about... I dream about this man..."

She shook her head.

"A wonderful man. An impossible man. I dream that we run somewhere together, I don't know where... and... and I trust him completely... and I would do anything for him... and... I just thought that that phone booth's colour is wrong; why would it be wrong?... but I _know_ it should look different... and... and I almost saw him now, his image... that man from my dreams... and it's not good, right?"

Her chin trembled, tears appeared in her eyes.

"How can I care for somebody I've never met? How the phone booth's colour can be wrong? Am I getting crazy, Gramps? Did I get crazy and that's why I can't remember the last year, and why mum... and why you... why everybody's been acting so weird... as if I were about to shatter into million pieces...?"

"Oh, Donna," whispered Wilf. "Oh, Donna, my child. Oh, come 'ere."

He hugged her clumsily and let her cry. He hadn't the faintest idea what else he could do. He could not tell her she was not crazy, was not dreaming, but remembering... no, not even that... that she was noticing faint, distant echoes of memories removed from her head by the Doctor, in order to let her _be_ Donna, to simply let her _live_. He was so afraid, and it was so hard to hide her from the world, and to hide the world from her; the world where the Doctor had left so many traces. Donna's words petrified him. Memories could kill her. Anytime Donna could remember... and die.

"They're just dreams, baby. Just dreams."

"But who is he?" whispered Donna. "_Who_ is he?"

* * *


	6. Blood

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* * *

**

**.6. Blood**

* * *

The Torchwood's SUV swerved from the road into a narrow pass between two stone walls, rolled down towards the river and stopped at the gravelled car park. Sun rays were barely pushing their way through the thick layer of clouds. It was cold, but the shiver that ran down Jack Harkness' spine had little to do with the nasty weather. Gwen Cooper opened the door and jumped onto the gravel on the other side of the landrover. Ianto Jones dawdled while disconnecting his notebook.

Jack removed the keys from the ignition, got out of the car and circled it, joining Gwen, standing there with her arms crossed, looking up the slope, at the blue police box, sticking out the field like a sore thumb. Feeling fine droplets of drizzle on his face, he put up the collar of his military coat.

"He's here," said Jack. "Wonder why?"

"The Doctor?" asked Gwen hesitantly. For her the Doctor was sort of a mythical character, but she was aware that he and Jack were very close. Knowing Jack, she wondered sometimes just _how_ close.

"The TARDIS." Jack shoved away his coat's flaps and strode uphill, ignoring the footpath, and aiming straight towards the wooden object, which, as Gwen knew, was the most amazing spaceship in the universe. Well, it certainly didn't look the part.

Gwen followed Jack, avoiding sodden sheep's droppings.

Jack tried to open the box's door. They did not budge. Jack clenched his fist and banged on the planks. There was no answer. For a moment he waited with his head tilted to one side, staring intently at the TARDIS; then he bent down suddenly and picked something from the ground. He straightened up, rubbing between his fingers the sticky, russet substance. He opened his fingers, smelled them, and closed them again, as if checking the substance's viscosity.

"Blood?" Gwen stopped next to him, eyeing the box tentatively. "Whose?"

She did not expect an answer, and did not get any. Suddenly Jack started downhill, towards the road, coat's tails fluttering. Passing surprised Ianto in full speed, he sprinted towards the rocky ford in the river. Gwen squinted, trying to see what had caught Jack's attention. In seconds she also was running towards the river.

A body of an elderly man was wedged between two flat rocks. A long, terrible slash ran across his clothing, skin and ribcage. Jack stood above the corpse motionlessly, his face pale, question in his blue eyes. Gwen caught up with him and then kneeled down, to have a better look of the body.

"_His_ blood?" She pointed at the dead man.

"Don't get me wrong," said Jack, very harshly. "But I'd rather it _was_ his blood."

He turned and looked at the TARDIS, frowning.

"I want it to be his blood," he repeated.

* * *


	7. The Psychic Wallpaper

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**.7. The Psychic Wallpaper**

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There was nothing in the cell that could be unscrewed, wedged, smashed, moved or even scratched with his fingernails. After a couple of hours of experiments the Doctor was absolutely sure of that. A box virtually moulded out of a single piece of metal. To be precise, moulded out of a heavy duty plastimetallic alloy; the fact he discovered by knocking on and licking the walls. Without his sonic screwdriver he could not find out much more.

He was now striding from one wall to the other (five steps each way, or more accurately, five steps and a tiny little bit of a sixth one – just enough space for an energetic turn), coat's tails flapping, arms folded behind his back. His body had managed to regenerate enough blood for him not to feel dizzy anymore and the wound on the back of his head had closed a while ago. The Time Lord's body was unequalled in regeneration and healing.

The Doctor was walking and talking to himself; a never-ending monologue reminding a conversation with an invisible interlocutor.

"Parameters typical of the Serian prison unit, but... nooo... It's not convincing, maybe a coincidence... and a high concentration of the plastimetallic alloy, yes, but not only Serians, so maybe... _Yes_! ...No, it doesn't prove anything... And why? ... Light, no, the light source... It's not Serian technology and certainly it's not Serian _modus operandae_... My greatest fan... Do I have fans? Well, why not, I could have. Just, why on earth, would they be psychopathic collectors of test subject?! Do I draw such kind of fans? ...Blood... Bloooooood... Goodnight, sweet prince? Shakespeare? Or another coincidence? _I'm not on Earth_."

He paused in the middle of the cell.

"I'm not on Earth. Different gravity. Artificial gravitation then, rotary motion, _sooo_ primitive, out of synch with the use of the plastimetallic alloy... A starship, a space station, maybe a rig... An extraction rig! Yes, that's it, this sound, this sound, ion drive, it must be... Ooooh, but all of it belongs to different times, different _ages_! It's a granary of mismatched materials and technologies. A dump. A scrap yard. A lumber-room."

He pressed a fist to his lips and for a moment mumbled unintelligibly under his breath. He turned suddenly, lifting his head and thrusting forward his pointy chin. He stood for a moment, listening, then in desperation he lifted both hands and tousled his already dishevelled hair. With one hand still entangled in his crop of hair, he moved the other one down, across his narrow face, elongating it even more with this gesture.

"Ooo, but this is _clever_," he said with a sort of admiration. "Very clever. Cleverly hidden identity. But whose?"

"I've got too many enemies." He picked up his five-step hike from wall to wall. "Yes. Too many enemies, can't make heads and tails of them. Maybe I should take a stock. A register. A chronicle... No, some sort of an alphabetical index... _Ha_!"

Leaning against the wall he started to count, bending successive fingers.

"_A_ for Absorbaloff! And for Anne Droid! _B_ for Blon Fel Fotch Passameer-Day Slitheen! _C_ for the Cybermen! The Carrionites! ...Cobb! _D_ for the Daleks! And for the Devil by the way! Same thing. _G_ for the Gelth! _J_ for Jagrafess of the Holly Hadrojasic Maxarodenfoe! _K_ for the Krillitans! Max Capricorn! Pirovillians! Plazmavores! The Racnoss! The Sontarans! Sycorax! Toclofanes! Vashta Nerada! Vespiforms! The Weeping Angels... and some who should remain unnamed. And it is only a brief survey of last few years!"

He turned his eyes towards the ceiling, grimacing bitterly.

"And just when I decided to renounce the violence and _really_ give the peace a chance... Air exchange! Ha!"

One jump positioned him in the middle of the cell.

"How long have I been here? Long enough to use up all the oxygen in the room, so air has to be replaced, or filtered, so there must be some sort of an air vent, or of a filter, so against appearances these are not cast walls, it's just me, I can't see something, and why...?"

He lifted his arms, easily touching the ceiling.

"A Chameleon Circuit?" he asked, brushing it with his fingers. "A cloaking device? Slightly psychic wallpaper? A spot I wouldn't touch, I just wouldn't _want_ to touch, because I would have no reason to do it?"

The Doctor chuckled when his fingers found an invisible indentation in the ceiling. Almost simultaneously he screamed out of pain. His body hit the wall and slid towards the floor.

"Have we learned something new?" asked his oppressor's voice.

"Au!" said the Doctor, pushing his painfully clenched fingers under his arms.

"Have we learned not to poke our fingers between the door and a doorframe?"

"We have learned where the door _is_," responded the Doctor, a shadow of the smile on his face.

"The word of warning, then. Next time the energy field will be strong enough to fry us in the spot. So, let us forget about the doors and concentrate on tests."

"What te... auuu!"

The narrow beam of light pierced the cell's semi-darkness, cut through the coat, suit jacket and Doctor's chest, to disperse finally on the opposite wall.

"For instance, we will assess the rate of your recovery."

"It's quick enough, thank you," gasped the Doctor from the cell's floor.

"A famous Time Lord's regeneration?" asked the voice. "Let's test its powers. Let's see what and how you can regenerate. And let's see what you _cannot_ regenerate at all."

"Enough," said the Doctor. Mockery disappeared from his voice, madness disappeared, even fear was gone. It was a stern, controlled voice of somebody who knows his own strength and believes in his own words. "Enough. I've given you a chance to back off. You didn't take it. We will meet again, face to face, and I will destroy you. You know that. So, better start running. Run long and far. Now."

Walls of the cell begun to emanate a pale blue light.

"An empty threat. A ridiculous threat. Murderer of billions, killer, Time Lord, we will never face each other. Your time is at its end. Your time ends, just as the time of all of us. Because everything has its end, and everything dies."

In increasing brightness the Doctor felt as if surrounding walls were spinning. He outstretched his arms, but failed to get a hold of anything. He slid onto his side and curled on the floor. Somebody was laughing above him; laughing without any joy; the terrible, painful laughter of a creature devoid of all hope.

* * *


	8. The Journal of Impossible Things

Big thanks for comments. If my weird English is not putting you off - enjoy:) There's more to come.

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**.8. The Journal of Impossible Things**

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"You travelled with the Doctor!"

"It doesn't mean I can fly the TARDIS!"

"You still have got the key!"

"And I _did_ let you in, remember? You held the controls as well and I was under impression you knew what you were doing! Why does it have to be my fault?"

"I knew what I was doing!"

"Me too!"

"But I can't remember _why_ I was doing it!"

"Neither do _I_!"

"You try to be so clever, all of you," said Mickey, getting in between Jack and Martha. "But none of you have any idea what had happened then. Rose said one day that the Doctor was... eerm... a part of the ship, so to say, and when the Doctor was broken... I mean ill... we couldn't understand the Sycorax's speech, even though she should have translated it all the time... in our heads. Take away the Doctor, and TARDIS is just a wooden box... Slightly bigger on the inside. But just a box."

"Rose had managed to return to the Game Station." With some difficulty Jack turned his flaming gaze from the face of excited Martha. "As far as I'm aware, against the Doctor's will. She had flown the TARDIS. How did she do that?"

"Rose..." Mickey hesitated slightly. "Rose looked into the TARDIS's heart. She _asked_ TARDIS to take her to the Doctor."

"I have been asking her to do that for the last twenty-four hours," grumbled Martha. "I'm asking, and I'm threatening, I'm pleading and I'm imploring. At times I'm begging."

All three of them turned towards the blue police box placed in the middle of the underground hall in the Torchwood Hub. The box stood innocently, buzzing quietly, just above the auditory threshold.

"Maybe we are all overreacting."

Jack looked towards Gwen, standing further back, with a scanner pointed towards the TARDIS.

"Maybe we're overreacting," repeated Gwen. "Maybe he's fine. Maybe he found that man's body and decided to play a detective. And now he wonders what the hell happened to his ship."

"We are _not_ overreacting." Jack pushed his fists into the trousers' pockets and marched towards the hall's exit so quickly that the others had to run to keep up.

"Does Ianto have any leads?"

"Traces of alien DNA. We don't have it in our database," gasped Gwen. "Lacerated wounds, caused by fangs, maybe claws. Or an alien weapon, based not on metal but on biological compounds."

"As what, a wooden knife?" asked Mickey uncertainly.

"Or bone," replied Gwen. "In any case, it was not made of any known material. But my bet is on claws. Nevertheless..."

"We are not overreacting," repeated Jack, entering the main Hub's hall, the one with a central pillar of the mirror sculpture supporting the high ceiling. "We have an abandoned ship and a corpse. We have traces of an alien DNA. And something else."

"What?"

"Would you care to follow me to my office, Miss Jones? And you, Mickey."

"What about us?" Ianto stuck his neck out of the line of his computer screens. "We would not follow you to the office?"

Jack looked at him pointedly.

"No," murmured Ianto. "I s'pose not. Torchwood is off the quest list."

Gwen raised her eyebrows.

"Bloody Time and Space Travellers Circle," she hissed. "The elite."

"At least you know how your ex-workmates must feel," summarised Ianto calmly.

"But it was us who were stuck frozen in the time bubble, with the Dalek pointing the gun at us." Gwen shook her shoulders. "Always frozen in the time bubble... Jack!"

"Fine, c'mon." Jack leaned over the stair's railing. "You may as well join us. It won't be a secret anymore, anyway."

"What?" asked Gwen, but Ianto was already speeding towards the office.

"What won't be a secret?" she repeated, entering the office. Jack, standing behind his cluttered desk with his hands resting on its work surface, raised a tired gaze.

"Donna Noble," he said quietly. Martha and Mickey shifted uncomfortably; Martha folded her arms.

"Is something wrong with Donna? Is she missing as well? What happened?" Gwen moved a chair and sat down on the opposite side of the desk. "What is the secret?"

"For a brief time Donna Noble shared the awareness of the Time Lord," said Jack. "Through the same process that created the Second Doctor, Donna was given the knowledge beyond the powers of the human brain. Donna Noble saved the Universe. DoctorDonna."

For a moment there was silence.

"Is it even possible?" Ianto spoke at least.

"Apparently not quite." Jack moved a hand across his face and heavily sat down behind the desk. "Human brain cannot sustain such knowledge. Donna couldn't keep that awareness... and live. The Doctor removed all her memories; Donna cannot remember him, their travels or the events on the Crucible. She cannot remember who she had become because of the Doctor. If she remembers, even for a while, her mind will burn. If she remembers – she'll die."

"That's... terrible," said Gwen after a long silence. "I can't understand half of what you've said, but it... it's... terrible..."

"How could he..." began Ianto.

"It was the only solution. The only way out. The only way to save her."

"I'd rather die. It's worse... It's like Alzheimer's... Were I to forget you..."

Ianto blushed suddenly, and Gwen smiled at him compassionately.

Jack took a deep breath, reached into the desk's drawer and took out a plastic covered notebook printed in large pink and yellow flowers.

"Martha, I think you'll recognise this," he said.

"Hmm?"

Jack pushed the notebook across the work surface. Surprised, Martha picked it up and thumbed through its pages. Mickey, Gwen and Ianto watched tensely as Martha's face started to change. Her eyes widened, colour crept on her cheeks. After a while she exhaled loudly.

"O, God. O, my God!"

"What is it?" asked Mickey.

"It is Donna's notebook. It was sent to me by Wilfred Mott, her Grandfather. He was alarmed, and not without a reason. This is where she has been writing down her dreams."

"A dream diary?" repeated Ianto.

Martha lowered the notebook on the work surface, so that everybody could see, in the circle of light cast by a desk lamp, Donna's elegant, clear handwriting. And drawn in the middle of the page, between the lines, the blue police box.

"You've seen something like that," said Jack.

"Yes." Martha turned a couple of pages. The exploding volcano. A creature holding a ball in its hand – with eyes coloured red. The sonic screwdriver. Rows of library bookshelves, hid in the shadow of inked lines. The markings which used to appear on the TARDIS's scanner. The ship's centre – a crystal column. The Doctor's face. The Doctor's faces. Repeated over and over again on consecutive pages.

"Yes. I have seen something similar. When the Doctor had used the Chameleon Arch to hide from the Family of Blood. He had forgotten he used to be a Time Lord, he reprogrammed his body and brain, and became human. But he had those dreams. He kept a dream journal. Just like this one."

"Does that mean she remembers?" Mickey became alarmed.

"They were just dreams," protested Martha. "He didn't believe them. He thought they were creations of his vivid imagination. He wouldn't believe even when I confronted him with the evidence. Only when the fob watch was opened..."

"Donna never used the Chameleon Arch," interrupted Jack. "And she does not think these dreams are creations of a vivid imagination. Wilfred claims that she's confused and terrified. She suspects, she's loosing her mind."

"O, my God," whispered Gwen.

"She may lose much more than just her mind," added Jack.

* * *


	9. Dreams

It has to be worse before it gets better... Oh, by the way, I found out that there should be some sort of a disclaimer, so:

_They are not mine, BBC owns them and all their possessions._

That's sorted then:)

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**.9. Dreams**

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Donna woke up with a sigh and instantly sat up in her bed. It was quiet in the house; she could clearly hear the ticking of her narrow silver watch left on the bedside table. She picked it up and checked the time in the lamplight. It was four o'clock in the morning.

Reflexively she put her hand into the drawer, but she could not find her notebook. She looked under the bed, but it was not there as well. She started searching for it, but stopped after a while and cowered on the edge of her bed. She knew that if she continued to look for the notebook, she would forget her dream.

"We are running through narrow streets," she whispered, trying to preserve images from her dream. "It's dark and hot. Hard to breathe. Ashes fall from the sky; no, not only ashes; cinders and tiny bits of pumice as well. We are surrounded by a frightened crowd. And he's squeezing my hand. And he's dragging me somewhere, dragging me along, to some safe place. But I don't want to be safe. I'm guilty; I'm guilty of this catastrophe. It's my fault... It's our fault..."

She buried her face in her hands, fingers rubbing her temples. Headaches were getting unbearable. It seemed that for every dream about that (_wonderful_) man she had to pay in currency of a terrible migraine. In her bedside table's drawer she had a blister of paracetamol, but paracetamol had stopped working a long time ago. She got up heavily, and cautiously, careful not to wake up family members, she walked to the kitchen. She poured some water into the mug and sat at the table. She would not be able to fall asleep anyway.

"I'm wearing a strange dress," she whispered into the darkness. "And the people around us are wearing strange clothing. Ashes, pumice and weird clothes, I could swear that we are in Pompeii. It's Pompeii. And it's Volcano Day."

"Donna?"

"What? Oh, sorry, Gramps. Did I wake you up?"

"I wasn't sleeping. Umph..." Wilfred hit his knee against the leg of the chair and groaned in pain. "Why are you sitting here in the darkness?"

He found a switch and the kitchen was flooded by the light. Turning, he noticed that Donna was squinting, hiding her face in clasped hands.

"Donna, child, what's going on?"

"No, nothing... It's too bright..." He caught notes of tiredness and pain in his granddaughter's voice.

"You have headache again?"

"It's nothing. It's just a migraine."

"Donna..."

"Yeah, I know, I should go see the doctor, do some check-ups. But I know it's nothing. Just a migraine. That's all."

Donna lowered her hands and looked at Wilfred with a forced smile, which disappeared instantly, once she noticed her grandfather's reaction.

"Wha...?"

"Eeerm..." He looked around quickly, picked a tea-towel from the chair's backrest, doused it in cold water and handed it to Donna. "Eeerm... nothing, really... just... you have a nosebleed."

Surprised, she wiped her nose with the back of her hand. Blood shone in the light of the ceiling lamp.

"Press it to the bridge of your nose; I'll see if we have some ice."

"Gramps..."

Wilfred looked at her above the fridge's door. Donna sat there, hunched, fiery hair emphasising her pallor. Last few months achieved something unattainable for previous countless diets – she grew slim; her green eyes, surrounded by dark circles of tiredness, seemed very large in her narrow face.

"Gramps, am I...?"

"Of course not, what are you talking 'bout, everything's going to be fine, it's just a headache, for God's sake, there's nothing to worry 'bout, you'll be all right, you have us and everything is going to... everything... is going to... be fine..."

"Dad?" Sylvia's sleepy voice interrupted Wilf's increasingly chaotic mumble. "Donna? What are you doing in the middle of the night? What ha... Donna, what happened?"

A droplet of blood fell from Donna's nose and splattered on the table top.

"Sylvia..."

"Gramps. Mum." Donna's voice trembled with emotion. "When are you going to tell me?"

"Tell you what?"

"I'm not _blind_, you know? I can see something's going on. Mum. You've never been so... _compliant_. It's not normal. Something's wrong. Something's wrong with me. You – both of you – look at me as if... as if... _I had something on my back_..." She stopped suddenly, face contorted in pain. Her eyes rolled upwards and before Wilf or Sylvia had time to react, she hit her head against the table top. The grandfather managed to catch her before she slid from the chair. He put his hand on her brow, and cradled her head in the crook of his arm.

"Oh, God!" Sylvia said.

Gently stroking his granddaughter's auburn hair Wilfred met her terrified gaze.

"It's high time," he said. "It's high time we made _this_ phone call."

* * *


	10. Torchwood in Chiswick

Disclaimer again:

_Yeah, I do not own Torchwood as well; it belongs to BBC. And I love BBC for the Doctor and for Torchwood. BBC rocks!_

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**.10. Torchwood in Chiswick**

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The huge black SUV looked strangely out of place on the narrow Chiswick's street. Clung close to the high kerbstone, squeezed in between a skip and several green rubbish bins, it resembled a hailstorm cloud in a clear blue sky. The neighbours scrutinized it from behind their front rooms' curtains, but the kids openly swarmed around the car, gaping through the windows at countless electronic gadgets cluttering the interior of the Torchwood's vehicle.

Ianto took a cup of tea from Sylvia's hands and turned towards the window.

"Milk and two sugars?" Donna's mother made sure.

"Erm... Yes, thanks." Ianto did not take sugar with his tea, but the woman looked so distracted and scared, he did not have a heart to say no. He took a swig of treacly tea. "Lovely, perfect, thank you."

The door slammed somewhere in the house. Both Sylvia and Ianto started, the later spilling some tea onto the shiny flooring. Gwen ran across the corridor, followed by Jack, striding quickly with Donna in his arms. Martha walked last, hurriedly closing her doctor's bag. Sylvia gasped, pressing both hands to her mouth.

"Wha... What have you done?! What have you done, you...?!"

"We're taking her to Torchwood," Jack said.

"But... but what...?"

"Mrs Noble," Jack stopped for a moment; Donna's head resting on his shoulder, her limp arm swinging slightly. "We have to _hurry_."

"This... _Doctor_." Sylvia infused the last word with all her mistrust and loathing. "He said she couldn't remember... He assured us it wouldn't happen. He promised..."

"I know," Jack gave her a compassionate, if slightly vexed look. "The Doctor's a genius, Mrs Noble, he's a wonderful... a... wonderful... being, but even the Doctor makes mistakes. So if we want to save Donna, we have to hurry."

"But... what can you do?"

Jack's silence lasted a little too long. Behind his back, Martha bit her lips and lowered her head.

"Don't worry. We'll find a way." Jack Harkness squeezed through the narrow doorway and marched towards the SUV, scaring away the kids surrounding it.

"Why is _he_ not responding?" shouted Sylvia. "We've tried to call, a million times; that mobile should always work, he _promised_. Why can't we ask the Doctor?"

Gently Jack lowered Donna onto the SUV's backseat. Martha, pushing her way through the door, opened her mouth to answer, but Jack turned towards Sylvia and put his hand on her shoulder.

"Because nobody knows where he is," he said quietly. "I'm sorry, Mrs Noble."

Wilfred stepped out onto the porch, shouldering an almost empty backpack. He was pale, his hair dishevelled, black circles under his eyes.

"I'm going with you," he announced.

"Wilf..." Jack paused for a second. "Wilf, it's not a good..."

"Are you worried about your secrets?" The old man clenched his teeth, trying to hold back tears. "Tough! I'm worried about my little girl. I won't leave her alone!"

Martha grabbed Jack – beginning of protest on his mouth – by the elbow, and shook him slightly.

"Leave it," she whispered.

"Hmmm..." Jack pushed his hands into trousers' pockets, inhaled deeply, then reached for Wilf's backpack. "We can use all the help... I suppose."

"I..." started Sylvia but Jack quickly swivelled towards the SUV.

"Yes, goodbye, Mrs Noble. We'll stay in touch."

Sylvia was standing on the threshold long after the black car had disappeared at the end of the street. She knew she was attracting neighbours attention, but she could not care less. She had convinced herself that Donna was nothing but an endless trouble, but still she loved her more than anybody in the world. She loved Donna, and she would give anything to find out that some other woman had saved the Earth and all Universes; she would give anything to make Donna a plain, useless, silly girl, screaming at the world that never listened.

* * *


	11. Revelations

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**.11. Revelations**

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Gasping, the Doctor raised his head to look at the creature, which had appeared in his cell. Slightly taller than an average human being, covered with armour resembling a chitin crust of an insect, it moved deceptively slow. Deceptively, because a moment ago, when the Doctor had tried to attack the creature, he got hit by one of its extremities and thrown against the wall with an impetus that left him breathless. He slammed the back of his head against the plastimetallic wall, momentarily close to loosing consciousness. He tried to get up, but his arms and legs would not listen. He had never been physically strong, but after many days of, well, let's say it – after many days of _tortures_ – he had just enough strength to raise his head.

"I don't know you," he gasped. "I don't even know who you are."

"It's because I've changed," answered the insect-like creature. "You have changed since our last meeting as well. I've never thought you vain, but I've must been mistaken. A pretty face for a pretty companion. So, where's your Rosebud now? Lost behind a wall of a different garden, a different world, a different reality."

It crouched next to the Doctor, piercing him with human eyes looking out of the insect's face. Its eyes were old, blurred with milky cataracts.

"So, which incarnation is it?" it asked. "Tenth? Oh, you and your regeneration. How interesting."

The Doctor bit his lips. This creature had played with his life for so many days, bringing him to the brink of regeneration through injuries and pain, depriving him of food and water, light and air, injecting medicines and poisons, making fun of him. A lot had happened in the Doctor's lengthy life, but never had he felt a helpless prisoner. He was never a victim. Well, maybe except the times when... Forget it!

The worst of it was the fact that no one would help him. In desperate times he could always count on people or other entities, even those he had met just in passing. Rose, pulverising the Dalek Emperor's army into atoms; Mickey, at right moment using his mobile phone; Ian Chesterton, risking his life in the Aztec's tunnels; Martha, crossing the wastelands of the Master; even K9, sacrificing its metal existence for the Doctor. And now he was alone.

Alone, except...

"Just tell me who you _are_," he repeated. "If we have met in the past, tell me when?"

"A hundred years ago. In three years. Yesterday. What difference does it make, Time Lord?"

"I could name you."

"Ah!" The creature uttered an unpleasant laughter. "So important. Naming things. Taming the shadows."

It bent over the Doctor.

"You are predictable. You have named yourself _the Doctor_, because you are afraid of superstition, ignorance and darkness. You named yourself _the Engineer_, because you believe that you can fix anything."

It stretched again, tall and slightly scary, with its old, human eyes burning in the alien face.

"I didn't name myself; I was named by my parents, but I've decided that their choice was right. _The First_. The First created. The First banished. The First punished disproportionately to his crime."

For a long time the Doctor was starring at the creature with wide open eyes.

"Adam," he said at last, quietly, almost whispering.

The creature took a whistling breath.

"Congratulations! So you _do_ remember. Geocomtex. Henry van Statten's underground base, Utah, 2012. Adam Mitchell."

"You _have_ changed," said the Doctor cautiously. "You really have changed. Weeell, maybe not completely, not for the better in any case..."

"This?" The creature, which in the relative past of the Doctor's timeline used to be a young clever employee of the American multimillionaire, made a gesture as if presenting a new and posh piece of clothing. "This is just a costume. A physical shell that does not wear out as quickly as the plain human body. In a way I'm much like you, Doctor – I'm changing my costumes to cheat death. I live for so long now, so very long..."

"Your eyes," said the Doctor. "They are old."

"Many years have passed."

"But how is it possible?" The Doctor overcame the initial shock. He rested his back against the wall, then got up with effort and started circling his interlocutor, craning his neck and staring intently at Adam's insect-like face. He would put on his glasses, if they had not been taken away, alongside the sonic screwdriver and all the rest of indispensable gadgets usually filling his pockets. "I've left you at home, in 2012. You were supposed to keep quiet, make no fuss..."

"You did _not_ leave me at home. Don't excuse yourself, don't pretend you cared," burst out Adam, pushing the Doctor against the wall again. "You disposed of me as if I were a pile of rubbish. I've made one mistake; I didn't mean any harm; I was just curious. I was young? Don't you make mistakes, Doctor?"

The Doctor raised a hand and tousled his mated, tangled hair.

"Apparently I do."

"You threw me away. You used me and you chucked me away. And you knew that my life was as good as finished; I had a bloody computer terminal in my forehead; my head would open at the snap of fingers; you could see my bloody brain! How was I supposed to live? How did you imagine my bloody life? _How was I supposed to live_?"

"Quietly?" mumbled the Doctor.

Adam laughed bitterly; inhuman, squeaky laughter of his insect form.

"Quietly? My mother got into hysterics, when she saw that. She's never recovered. My father denounced me to the authorities. He never looked at me twice. Never listened. I've lost everything, in an instant; just because you crossed my path, I've lost all I've ever had."

The Doctor stepped away. His momentary agitation disappeared, all colour washed away from his suddenly expressionless face, darkness crept into his eyes. He was staring at Adam with lips bit into a thin line.

"I was experimented on; my little tests on you are nothing compared to those I had to suffer. There are other organisations than Torchwood or UNIT. They have underground prisons, gigantic research facilities, extensive laboratories. For a year – a whole year – I was checked, tested, tortured," said Adam feverishly. "I've been turned into a Frankenstein's monster. There was no part of my body that wouldn't be furrowed with scars. There was no kind of pain I had not been exposed to. Whatever I said, however I tried to defend myself, nobody believed me."

The Doctor kept gloomy silence.

"I was saved by pure luck," continued Adam. "I'm not even sure what it was. I suspect one of reckless experiments of the institution imprisoning me at the moment. A _time slide_, just three seconds of a temporal rift... I found myself in the year 1996, where I was at least unknown. So I lived, quietly, amongst the other homeless freaks, grateful for the small blessing of anonymity; and I would probably continue living until the bitter and lonely death if not... Let's say that it happened last year, just for the sake of temporal continuity, because we both know that time is not in the least linear... So, last year I was captured by the Daleks. They took me onboard their ship, the Crucible, and since I had had a degree in hiding and covering my tracks already... well... I hid. I covered my tracks."

He stepped closer to the Doctor, pressing his chitin chest against him. Old pupils of his eyes burned with hate.

"You abandoned me, Doctor. You destroyed all the data I had transferred from the Satellite Five. But you've forgotten about one thing. I am able to connect with a computer. Any computer. I do not mean Earth's twenty first century calculators, but when the walls separating universes, dimensions and time crumbled..."

"The Crucible," said the Doctor.

Adam laughed again.

"Finally I have found a compatible computer. I have found a way to retain information. And all of it was there. All of it. Tranmats. A time jump. The temporal technology. Your history. The past and the future. Enough information to begin my own journey. Still gathering data. Still looking for you."

Slowly, slowly, the Doctor closed his eyes.

"But wherever I went, I was always alone, always a freak. There was always danger. You had destroyed my life, Doctor, and now I intend to pay you back," finished Adam.

There was silence. The Doctor kept quiet, standing with his back to the wall, his eyes closed and arms lowered.

"Aren't you going to say anything?" growled Adam at last.

"Your eyes are so old," the Doctor whispered. "And still all you want to do is destroy? You've seen the time, you've seen how all passes, how it ends. And still you want to destroy. I was right when I threw you out from the TARDIS. _I travel only with the best_, I said. And you're not..."

The blow forced the air out of his lungs. Chitin outgrowths on Adam's limb cut deep into the Doctor's skin above the solar plexus. He slid along the wall, hands desperately searching for something to hold on to.

"I will take the secret of regeneration from you." Adam leaned over him. "I will take the last shred of energy. I will take all your memories and secrets. And when I take it all, I will give you away to my Lords."

He trembled and vanished suddenly, with a muffled explosion of the transmat.

"Lords?" gasped the Doctor towards the little pile of ashes, which remained on the floor after the violent reaction of the teleport. "What Lords? _What Lords_?!"

* * *


	12. Ice and Drugs

Disclaimer: No, the Doctor's still not mine:( I also do not own Torchwood. Or the Tardis. Although I should. Because I could go to the last month, translate all the story and publish it quickly. Or I could go to the future and find some hi-tech brain-straight-to-computer-translator technology which would do all the work. Or I could go on a well-deserved holiday and ask the Tardis to translate the story for me in the meantime... Oh, well, the slow way, then...

* * *

**.12. Ice and Drugs**

* * *

Donna lifted her eyelids and blinked surprised at a sight of an anxious face, hovering above her. A woman standing next to Donna's bed gave her a warm smile. Donna knew that face, deep wrinkles in the corners of her mouth, puffy eyes circled with shadows. That face had no right – no right whatsoever – to hover above her with a warm smile.

"Are you awake, sweetheart?" said the woman. "Oh, sorry, I didn't introduce myself."

A leather wallet, opened to show the ID card, appeared next to her face.

"Harriet Jones, Prime Minister."

"Yes, I know who you are," reflectively answered Donna. "I mean... _what_...?"

"Captain Harkness!" Harriet turned towards the gallery, which surrounded the room, where Donna's bed was placed – no, not the bed, it was actually a narrow hospital couch. Tilled walls were a dusty shade of white, the colour tiles acquire only after many, many years. This place had been created a long time ago, maybe at the turn of the previous century, maybe even earlier. Even before Donna found a sign on the wall, something in her mind spoke with absolute certainty: "Torchwood." The pain behind her eyes grew slightly stronger.

"As long as the sarcophagus is not ready, we have to keep her in the state of coma." A masculine voice, quite pleasant, despite audible aggravation. "Honestly, I see no other option. Every minute, every second may prove to be critical."

"Doses of Amnesia I'm giving her may prove critical as well." Another familiar voice – still girlish, but strong, used to giving orders. "Your Amnesia Pill contained just a few milligrams of an active substance; now we are pumping whole grams into her. The drug has not been tested; side effects may be very dangerous. Please, Jack, we're killing her. What will I tell Wilf if she..."

"Captain Harkness, miss Jones, she's awake," said Harriet, apparently trying to speak louder than the girl.

"What?!"

A man's face appeared in Donna's field of vision; a handsome face, with a chiselled chin and sky-blue eyes. She smiled involuntarily, at the same time however pointing an accusatory finger at Harriet and whispering theatrically:

"_She's dead_."

"Miss Noble..."

"Oh, no, please – _Donna_ – we don't have to get all official just because I'm dying," she said lightly, turning her head towards a young woman in doctor's coat. "Martha, right? Martha Jones. We've met before... You said you felt as if you were wearing your father's coat, and I said you were so over him, apparently, if you were thinking about him like that..."

She curled on the couch, both hands pressed to her temples.

"Oh, it _hurts_!" she groaned. "Everything's wrong. The world is cracked. The whole world... cracked..."

"Is it possible that she's talking about the Rift?" whispered somebody at the gallery above.

"No," the man answered dryly. "Anything new?"

"It reminds chitin," answered dark haired woman, leaning over the railing and handing him a sheaf of papers. "The weapon. It's not wood or bone, but chitin. Like an insects' crust."

"Abducted by the beetles," laughed somebody else, at the back.

"It's not funny, Ianto."

"All things considered, no, it's not," admitted a young man, carrying a tray laden with mugs. "Is she awake?"

"What's going on?" asked Donna. She untangled her hands from her thick, auburn hair and sat up with effort. In spite of the pain splitting her skull, or maybe because of the pain, some old part of her broke free, and Donna yelled at the world: "What the hell's _happening_? Where am I? What is this _place_? Tell me! What am I doing in Torchwood and _WHERE. IS. THE DOCTOR_?!"

People gathered around her looked at each other, which seemed quite funny, as those downstairs had to lift their heads to look at the ones on the gallery. For a while all of them seemed to be searching for someone who cleverly hid among them, in the shadows. The Doctor? But who was the Doctor? Donna was sick and needed a medic, but she was sure that the Doctor she had just mentioned was not a physician. The Doctor ran through time and space; rushing like fire swallowing a puddle of spilled petrol; hurrying like wind over the cliffs on a cold, stormy night; like a light of distant stars; and Donna's place was at his side.

Donna's mouth trembled when tears of pain, rising in her eyes, finally spilled over onto her cheeks.

"Please," she said with despair. "Please, help me. Please. Please."

The man standing next to her – Captain Harkness – put his hand on her shoulder.

"We _are_ trying to help you," he said. "But our options are limited."

"What's wrong with me?" she asked. "Except _the instantaneous biological metacrisis..._ _Oh_!" she groaned again, looking around with her eyes wide open. "So many errors. O, my God, so many errors. So many adaptations. We need him, Jack, he _has_ to fix it, before it is too late... All the worlds cracked... So many paradoxes, all of them seeping... through rifts... through the fissure..."

"Doctor?" said Martha. Jack grabbed her by the elbow and roughly yanked her away from Donna's couch.

"Shut it!" he shouted in a whisper.

"Why?" Martha's lips trembled, but she looked stubbornly into Harkness' eyes. "Can't you see she's remembering? She can remember him. And, so far, she hasn't burned."

"I burn, but I'm not consumed," stated Donna, madness in her voice.

"Like a phoenix," whispered Ianto, setting the tray aside on the step of the stairs.

"Doctor Jones, Captain Harkness." Harriet spread her arms in conciliatory gesture. "Please, what can we do?

Jack turned towards Donna.

"We can hibernate you," he said gently. "Freeze you. Put you in a state of suspended animation. We have technology; Torchwood hibernated people before. Whatever happens to you, whatever it is, we will gain time to find a cure."

"We don't have time," immediately answered Donna. "See, time is not a straight progression of cause to effect, past to future; time is more like a big... ball of... wibbly-wobbly... timey-wimey... stuff... Eerm, not really what I meant. Anyway, we have no time! At all... No, wait, it's not that... Eerm, it's _him_ who doesn't have time. _YES_! (After the last exclamation Harriet Jones jumped up and pressed her hands to her heart). He doesn't have time! The Doctor!"

"Enough." Harkness turned to Martha. "No point in waiting. No discussion. Give her Amnesia. Now."

"Jack." Donna grabbed him by the hand. Her green eyes shone with tears and pain. "Please. Remember. All is wrong. Too many errors. Remember. You need him, but you can't let him _oooooh_..."

Without further hesitation Jack lifted her up and held close to his chest. She was trembling in his arms, full of pain and fear, and Jack was utterly petrified with his own helplessness.

"No, enough!" he yelled. "I'm taking her to the Freezer, now!"

"Jack." Martha tried to oppose.

"She won't stand it much longer." He already carried Donna up the stairs, along the gallery, to the central Hub's hall, the one with the crystal column of the water sculpture hiding the Rift Manipulator. "Ianto, wake Wilf, tell him it's now. Martha, prepare the injections. Prime Minister..."

"I won't stand in the way, Captain," said Harriet instantly. "Remember that if needed, I will activate all accessible resources. Torchwood can count on my support. And... Captain...?"

Jack slowed down for a moment, looked back above Donna's head, resting on his chest.

"Please, _do_ find him," finished Harriet Jones.

Harkness just nodded slightly. Donna grabbed his shirt, lifted her head, trying to meet his gaze.

"Everything's gonna be all right," he promised.

"Can you hear?" she whispered, her eyes large, surprised.

"Hear what?"

"TARDIS. Can you hear her?"

"Donna..."

"TARDIS is in the Hub," said Martha, running after Jack. She caught up with him and leaned over Donna. "She's here, in Torchwood. We've found her in Ogmore-by-the-Sea, but the Doctor wasn't there. Just some blood on the threshold. A body of a man. And traces of a substance..."

"Martha, what the hell are you doing?!" Jack jumped back.

"Chitin," helped Gwen. "A substance resembling chitin."

"And traces of chitin. But the Doctor wasn't there. We've brought TARDIS to the Hub, but none of us knows how..."

"Martha, enough!"

"TARDIS?" Donna used both hands to push herself away from Harkness, almost toppling both of them over. Jack had to put her down, but he still had one arm around her shoulders. Donna swayed on her legs. "Is she here? TARDIS? _Ooooh_!"

She clutched her temples with a scream of pain.

"See what you've done, Martha!" hollered Jack.

"She knows!" Martha yelled back.

"She's _sick_ and you're _killing_ her!"

Donna's elbow hit him below the ribs with such strength, that Jack went pale and for a while was completely breathless. Donna evaded his momentarily limp arm and run towards one of the corridors, towards the song of the Doctor's ship. Moaning and swearing under his breath, Jack broke into a heavy run. He could hear Ianto, Gwen and Martha behind him. He was mad at Martha, but one thing was sure. Donna was running straight towards the room, where they've left the blue box.

He halted behind the arched door, in a dark, large room, lit mostly by sparsely placed spotlights. A powerful ceiling lamp cast a beam of light straight at the TARDIS, cutting out of the darkness her illogical, almost silly costume – wooden walls covered with faded paint; small, opaque windows – bygone era's illusion. Donna stood opposite the ship, in stripy pyjamas Wilf had packed for her when they were leaving Chiswick; with her fiery hair down her shoulders. She was breathing hard after her short run. It seemed that in the darkness there were only two of them – Donna and TARDIS – encircled by the beam of light. It seemed that they were watching each other – a woman and a machine, a mortal creature and a time vortex in the heart of the ship.

Slowly Donna raised her hand, put her thumb and her middle finger together, and snapped them. In silence and darkness, the sound seemed louder than anybody expected, almost magical. For a split second nothing happened, then, suddenly the blue box's door opened with familiar creaking, letting out a wave of warm, amber glow.

"It's impossible," whispered Martha, standing next to Jack. "It can't be."

Without hesitation Donna entered the TARDIS.

* * *


	13. Deus Ex Machina

I'm very sorry for the dely - I _did_ go for that well-deserved holiday after all and left my laptop and internet connection to cool down a little:) But I'm back and ready to continue. Thank you everybody for your comments and interest - even if I did not manage to answer in time, they are still the fuel for my efforts.

Disclaimer: _Well, let me see... Nope, still not mine._

* * *

**.13. Deus ex Machina**

* * *

The Doctor took a deep breath, coughed and opened his eyes. There was a battered, rusty object the size of a fist whirring about two feet from his face. On the top of this object swung an elastic tube tipped with a camera lens. At the bottom whirled three sets of brushes, much wider than the object's metal body, and making it look a little like a miniature dancing lady, her skirt spread wide. Brushes were raising dust in the air; dust particles, irritating his nose and throat, woke up the Doctor.

"Well, _hello_," said the Doctor. He did not change his position, which meant that he still had his cheek pressed to the floor, one arm uncomfortably trapped under his body and the other, just as uncomfortably, twisted behind his back. He had no idea how uncomfortable were his legs, as at some point they had gone completely numb.

"I'm the Doctor," he introduced himself to the metal object. "And who are you?"

The lens at the end of the elastic tube turned towards him and blinked once, with metallic click.

"Extremely dusty, this floor, eh?" continued the Doctor. "Lots of work?"

The machine blinked its round eye again. Its brushes whirred wildly, spinning on the floor and raising small clouds of dust. It came close enough to the Doctor's face for brushes' stiff bristles to scratch his nose once or twice.

"Hey, easy!" he mumbled, untangling his arms and legs. "What are you going to do – sweep me out with the rest of the rubbish? And what's that with the dust? You should suck it in, not spray it around."

He sat up with effort.

"And how did you get in? You had to get in somehow. Not by a transmat, nooo, I don't suppose so, a waste of energy for something so small. Who let you in?"

"Cell 7B. Wednesdays and Fridays," announced the machine, using absurdly pleasant, deep baritone.

"Wednesdays and Fridays, yeah? So which one is it, Wednesday or Friday?"

"Cell 7B. Wednesdays and Fridays."

Leaning against the wall the Doctor rubbed his face with both hands.

"I'm a Time Lord. One would think I'd know the day of the week. At least it's not Sunday. Sundays are boring."

He tried to reach the machine, but it evaded his hand deftly, engine and brushes whirring.

"A little mechanical deck cleaner." The Doctor sighed. "A hoover. Not intelligent enough to keep up a conversation. Just my luck..."

"No, wait," he interrupted his own sentence. "Wait, what am I talking about? I _am_ lucky, I have to be lucky, otherwise I wouldn't even exist, nine hundred plus years and lots and _lots_ of luck... Weeell, all things considered..."

The little, mechanical deck cleaner came a little bit closer, still whirring and humming.

"Ow, you have five by five steps of the floor to sweep, or to cover with dust; do you have to hoover the exact spot I'm sitting at?" The Doctor lifted one foot, moving it out of the machine's way.

"Typical." He moved away his hand.

"Not a moment of peace." Another foot.

"You know what, it reminds me of a game, an Earth's game; Twister it's called; quite a fun, especially if you have a good company; you can really entangle yourself with somebody..."

With metallic clicking something rolled towards him across the floor.

"Oh..."

"Cell 7B. Wednesdays and Fridays," said the little, mechanical deck cleaner. "Have a nice day."

The Doctor covered the sonic screwdriver with his hand.

"Who sent you?" he whispered tensely.

"Cell 7B. The Doctor," answered the machine.

The Doctor's eyebrows went up his forehead.

"Ooooh..." he whispered, sudden laughter in his voice. "Cheap tricks. How improper..."

He lifted the tiny hoover, turned it upside down, ignoring its angry buzzing, and looked between still rotating brushes.

"That's why you were spreading all that dust? Ha!"

He switched the cleaner off and put it into his suit pocket. Into the _bigger on the inside_ pocket. The tiny hoover didn't even bulge it; it didn't disturb the clean line of the Doctor's fitted suit. The Doctor got up slowly, hiding the sonic screwdriver in his hands. For a moment he considered adequate settings.

"Oh, yes!" he whispered finally.

The sonic blinked blue and twittered quietly. The Doctor's image trembled, flickered and dissolved. With muffled pop the air filled the space the Doctor had occupied a moment ago. A small handful of dust powdered the floor.

* * *


	14. Time and Space

Disclaimer: _Torchwood and the Doctor - not mine. I do own the little mechanical deck cleaner though. Yay, I own the hoover!!!_

* * *

**.14. Time and Space**

* * *

"Donna!"

She did not even slow down. The Doctor was in her every motion. In each hurried step, in deliberation with which she was moving levers, turning switches, shifting weird, almost organic dials. She should look silly in her stripy, green and yellow pyjamas, but, oddly, she didn't.

"Donna, what are you doing?"

She looked up for a moment from under the mess of hair falling over her forehead and cheeks, focusing absolutely lucid gaze on Jack.

"And what does it look like?" she asked sharply.

"Can _you_ fly the TARDIS?" Jack knew he was about to attract another portion of spite, but was too upset to care. "On your own?"

"You wanna join?" she snorted.

"Can I?"

"No."

"Just tell me what you're doing?" Jack demanded.

"I'm trying to find a location..." She suddenly doubled in pain and pressed both hands to the cockpit. "Location... location... Oh, my God, location..."

Using all her strength, she hit the panel with her fist. Something broke off and went clattering across the TARDIS's metal mesh floor.

"I just hope it wasn't anything important," said Ianto, seated below the pillar. "Like brakes or fuel pump. Or... I dunno... Geiger counter..."

"_His_ location!" yelled Donna. "Don't have time! Don't have time! Don't have time! I can't talk! Pick it up!"

"Pick what...?"

A mobile phone fitted in a slot of the steering panel started ringing. Martha, standing nearest, shifted her gaze from Donna, to Harkness, to the phone and reached for it slowly.

"Tell him I'm sorry but I couldn't wait," said Donna struggling with some stubborn lever.

"Tell whom?" asked Jack.

"Gramps." There was pure irritation in Donna's voice. "Who did you think?"

Harkness looked pointedly at Martha, who shrugged and answered the phone.

"Hello? Yes. Yes, Mickey, yes, everything's fine," she said, answering a stream of abrupt questions from the other end of the line. "No, she said, she couldn't wait and she was very sorry... What? Umm, no, I don't think it's a good idea, not now... A _tin dog_? Mickey, who's calling you a tin dog?"

She turned towards the wall, whispering into the receiver:

"We couldn't stop her, Mickey. She... Yeah, I think we're looking for the Doctor, but when Donna is like that, everything's possible... I just don't know..."

"In about an hour," said Donna, casting a glance towards Martha. "Tell them to keep the surgery ready."

"In about an hour," repeated Martha, wide eyed, looking over her shoulder at the red haired woman. "And you're to keep the surgery ready."

She switched off the mobile and moved closer to Jack.

"Have you noticed that she answers questions _before_ they are asked?" she whispered. "As if she were several seconds ahead, as if she was there _sooner_ than the rest of us. Oh, I don't even have words to describe it. As if she was ahead in time."

Harkness shrugged his shoulders, more to relax his muscles than to express his disregard.

"Just trust her," he whispered back. "You've been onboard the Crucible. You saw what she could do."

"_I_ haven't been on the Crucible," moaned Ianto miserably. "Was this thing that broke off...?"

"Sorry," said Donna. "Terrible take off. It's because of all those rifts. The Universe is testing adaptations. It's _so_ no good."

"Better hold on to something," advised Jack. "I think I'm beginning to understand how..."

The TARDIS screamed. Amber light dimmed, replaced by greenish shade. Sparks exploded from the walls and from underneath the mesh floor. The ship jerked so violently that the passengers lost their footing. And they did not regain it again. Rumbling, vibrating, ancient mechanisms howling painfully, the TARDIS slid from the temporal orbit into the unearthly tunnel in time and space.

"I've got no time," Donna kept repeating, holding on to the steering panel. "I'vegotnotime-i'vegotnotime-i'vegotnotime..."

* * *


	15. A Leap of Faith

Night seems the darkest just before dawn. Just so you remember:)

Disclaimer: _Do I_ have _to do it every time? Everybody knows I did not invent the Doctor; I haven't even been born in early 60ties! _

* * *

**.15. A Leap of Faith**

* * *

The transmat, as usual, scrambled his brain. He hated teleports. He got up heavily and pocketed his sonic screwdriver. He was surrounded by large objects covered with plastic sheets; most probably spare parts of some machinery, or maybe parked vehicles. The air stunk of oil and micropetrol. And something else. The Doctor wrinkled his nose at that striking, mechanical stench.

He crept slowly between cramped objects and looked out at the open space of an enormously huge hall. All shades of rust, black smears of grease and rainbow-hued puddles of spilled fuel – the usual scenery of space travel; not enough data to ascertain even the century – similar spaceships / shuttles / rigs were used by people and other humanoids for ages, and sometimes they attracted newer decks, constructions and machines, which were slowly covering the hub with new layers of settlement, just as the rock gets covered by coral, remaining forever in the centre of expanding colony. Just like the Tower of London.

There were maybe fifty insectiforms in the hall, almost indistinguishable from each other for a human eye – slim, tall, and covered in chitin, clicking with long extremities, very alien. They were neither alien nor indistinguishable for the Doctor's eyes. With muffled sigh of irritation he stepped back behind the tarpaulin's fold. The insectiforms. Maybe they did not inspire the greatest terror in the galaxy, but they were efficient soldiers nevertheless. If he counted on his gob, he suddenly lost all confidence. The insectiforms answered only to the Queen, and he could not expect _Her_ to be onboard this rusty old wreck of a ship.

"Yeeeah," he whispered to himself. "And that would be the shortest escape ever."

He thought about the TARDIS, probably still parked on the hill in Ogmore-by-the-Sea. He had no idea why Adam had not taken the box, but was sure she was not in this part of the universe. The Doctor still hadn't fitted a remote control for his ship, but he perfected methods of finding the TARDIS with his sonic. Recently she was getting lost far too often.

He put his hand into a pocket and with his fingertips he stroke a metal body of the little, mechanical deck cleaner. Faint smile appeared on his face. Time was an answer and a rescue. The past time and the future time. Time, coiled into a rubbery ball of something stretchy, meandering, changeable and not utterly definable. And he knew what he really needed.

He found it after a while – a metal gate of the transmat. Insectiforms were pushing crates and packages through the gate. Crates and packages were dissolving into nothing in the gateway of a commercial teleport, to re-materialise in some other place, onboard other ships, or maybe on a neighbouring planet / moon / asteroid. Leaning out of his hideout, the Doctor pointed the sonic at the gate. He shook the screwdriver, put it to his ear for a moment and, brows knitted, started changing settings. It would have been nice to know _where_ the teleport led before he jumped in its field.

When he looked up from the screwdriver he saw Adam standing in front of him.

"Ingenious," said a man in an insect's body. Old eyes scrutinized the Doctor with merciless amusement. "I won't even ask _where_ did you hide it."

He outstretched his hand (or rather an extremity armed with sword-like outgrowths), as if he expected the Doctor to give up his sonic screwdriver. Five insectiforms standing behind Adam were pointing their laser guns at the Doctor.

"Screwdriver," demanded Adam.

The Doctor straightened up and five insectiforms shifted from one extremity to the other. A wry smile flashed through the Time Lord's face.

"I'll lay it down if they lay down their guns," he said.

"Don't be _ridiculous_," snorted Adam. "I say a word and you'll turn into dust and steam."

"Hmmm..." The Doctor considered it for a while. "What would your Lords say about it?"

"They've given me a free hand."

"I don't think so."

"You don't even know who they are..."

"I can guess. I have the sense of who they are and what they want. You see, the nature hates vacuum; power vacuum breeds the storm; and you are nothing but an ant in the eye of the tornado, Adam Mitchell. You _want_ to kill me, oh yes, I know you want to kill me, but you won't dare to do it. You can escape your Lords, but you can't escape time. Your eyes are so old."

"Enough! Take him!"

"Wait-wait-wait!" The Doctor quickly raised his hands and insectiforms hesitated, fixing their gaze on the sonic screwdriver, humming quietly and emitting blue light. "You don't get it. I'm giving you the last chance."

"You're in no position..."

"Adam Mitchell, ex-human being, citizen of the Earth," the Doctor laughed. "You are facing the only person in the entire universe; no, in _all_ universes; who can understand you, and who can save you. You have only one moment; just one moment in all the time. Think about it."

He turned towards the insectiforms. Although his words seemed agitated, his face froze in an expression of grief.

"Adam called me a killer of billions, a genocide. Not without a reason. I _am_ a killer of billions, an Oncoming Storm, a Queen of all the Swarms."

Barrels dropped even lower.

"Take him, damn it!" yelled Adam, pushing forward the closest insectiform. "These are just words, stop _listening_!"

The sonic screwdriver twirled in the Doctor's hand, humming continuously and glowing blue.

"I determine the time of day and night, of leaving the hive and of homecoming. I reward deserts and punish faults; I deal awards and retributions. To me you bring your harvest and your loot; for me you dance your eternal dance..."

Insectiforms parted suddenly, letting him pass between them. One of them restrained Adam, who was shrieking with fury. All insect shapes in the hall seemed to sway to the rhythm of the Doctor's words. He walked deliberately towards the teleport, a sonic screwdriver in his raised hand resembling a torch lighting up the darkness. He walked across the gigantic hall filled with exoskeletal creatures, observed by dozens of faceted eyes, listening to the rustle of wings hidden under chitin elytra shields, smelling striking, alien odour of insects' pheromones. He walked slowly (_just ten steps left, just nine_), never breaking the monologue.

"...You dance, you rub each other, you inhale each other's scent and you listen to my music..."

"Damn!" Adam broke free from insectiform's grip. "It's the sonic! It's this sound! You bloody cheat! You..."

"The Queen Mother's Song," said the Doctor, turning to him for a moment. "Know your enemy."

He clicked the switch and continuous hum of the screwdriver ceased. Instantly, the Doctor pointed his sonic at the teleport door. The insectiforms reacted slowly, as if waking up from a pleasant dream, but Adam already run towards the gate. He opened his chitin elytra and unfolded his glorious silver wings, which raised him above floor, giving him impetus and speed.

"No! No! No!" he screamed. "No! No! No! No!"

The space in the teleport gate glimmered as if covered by an oily, rainbow-hued film. The Doctor tossed his sonic screwdriver and caught it in the air.

"YES!" he yelled. "HA!"

He was already in the transmat range, when something tore through his shirt, suit and coat. Surprised, he looked down at the chitin blade protruding from his chest.

The image inside the teleport glimmered and burned white. The Doctor disappeared in the flash of transmat's beam.

* * *


	16. Donna Noble and TARDIS

Disclaimer: _Yeah, I wish..._

* * *

**.16. Donna Noble and TARDIS**

* * *

The moment turbulences stopped, Donna jumped up from the floor, hands pressed to her temples, tears in her eyes. She could not give up; not now. The whole universe rushed around her; no, all universes, all _possible_ universes; but now she had to be Donna. Just Donna. Even if only for a moment, she had to damp down this horrible fire, consuming her from within. Even if just for a moment, even if just for a while.

(I burn, but I'm not consumed.)

She staggered and would have fallen but for Jack who supported her. Martha grabbed her other arm. With tremendous effort Donna drew up a scanner's screen.

"I can't see him," she muttered. "I don't know... I don't know... where..."

Harkness looked at the screen leaning above her shoulder; she could feel the warmth of his breath on her cheek.

"But there's nothing here," he said. "Nothing. Donna..."

"There!" Martha tapped upper right corner of the scanner with her finger. "Is this a ship? A rig?"

"Oooh, we have to get there!" Donna took in all the controls, suddenly so alien and incomprehensible. She reached to them knowing she would not make it without letting this horrible presence inside her brain speak up; without embracing knowledge, which poisoned her. And then, in the darkness of space something flashed – a tiny blip of light amongst the stars, so easy to overlook, almost indefinable.

Donna just groaned, instantly knowing what (or who) was that shape, materialising out of nothing in the void of space. Her hands found correct levers before she even realised what she was doing (and anyway, she had no clue what she was doing and what was going on around her most of the time now.)

"YES!" She moved last lever with a flourish, picked up a hammer from below the cockpit and whacked it into the steering panel.

"HA!"

The Doctor's body materialised next to the door.

The Doctor's _body_.

Donna lowered her hand and pushed away the certainty of failure a Time Lord's consciousness offered. She walked slowly towards the TARDIS's door.

The Doctor lay eagle-splayed on the floor. Sorrowful, really, as she once had said: 'too thin for words.' She had made a joke then – something about paper cuts. It didn't seem so funny anymore, now when he seemed so hopeless, so fragile. _Dead._

No, it couldn't be. The TARDIS wouldn't fly, if the Doctor died. If he died without Donna. Without both of them. But the TARDIS had been mistaken before; even she could get lost in the meanders of time and space, especially if time and space was full of cracks, paradoxes and anomalies. So the TARDIS had been appearing too early. Or too late. Too late.

Jack reached him first, grabbed him by his shoulders and lifted his limp body in a desperate hug.

"Doctor? Doctor?!"

There was no answer, and Jack's face contorted in pain, as he wrapped his arms around Doctor's slim shoulders. He started rocking, involuntary, as if he was soothing a baby having a nightmare. A dream of metal monsters, sliding softly across streets and lawns of ordinary human world, and shooting radioactive green rays of deadly energy.

Donna was next to reach the Doctor. Outrageous amount of running – she thought madly. But she did not run; she could hardly drag her feet. Nevertheless, she was out of breath and her face was sweaty. And her mind – blimey, her mind was absolutely brimming with thoughts, and ideas, and visions and voices. So, that is how you get mad. She couldn't bear it; she knew with terrible precision that she wouldn't last very long. She was burning like an electric arch, too bright to be gazed upon; too scary to be touched; deadly.

Jack looked at her through tears; his cheeks were glossy and silver and his eyes reflected golden light of sparks bursting from the TARDIS's walls. He looked so pretty, so young, so heartbroken. His hands were stained with blood.

"We are too late, Donna."

"No, we are _not_. He's a Time Lord, and he can regenerate."

"But he's not doing it," Jack's voice broke up for a second but then he continued harshly. "He's not regenerating. Why?"

"_How_ the hell shall I _know_?!"

Donna almost pushed him away. She wanted to take a closer look at the Doctor. What she didn't want was to be told, that he was dead already, and that their entire rescue mission was just a pitiful joke. The mission and her own life, burning now... burning bright... ferociously running towards the end.

"Let me see!"

Jack, ever so slowly, too slowly, opened his arms, and let the Doctor lie on the floor. He cautiously rested his head, and Donna noticed that the Doctor's eyes were slightly open. His large, deep, old eyes. Lustreless. Cold. Unmoving.

"Doctor? _Doctor_?! _DOCTOR_?!"

Oh, brilliant. There she was again – Donna Noble – shouting at the world. Does nothing really change? Was she still the same loud, silly woman who had met him a year and a half ago, dressed in that ugly wedding dress, anticipating the greatest adventure of her life, and pushed into another one – way grater? Was she still so pathetic? So weak? So stupid?

"Please..."

Her heart jumped as his eyelids fluttered suddenly. He opened and closed his mouth, wordlessly. And then his dark eyes looked at her, through her – still distant and unfocused. She could tell how far he already was, but she could also tell that he wasn't completely lost. She let out a loud sigh of relief, and as he tried to concentrate his eyes on her, she started to sob and tremble, repeating his name over, and over and over again. Jack put his hand on her shoulder. She grabbed his fingers and squeezed them so hard, he grimaced in pain.

Pupils of the Doctor's eyes were wide. They contracted slowly as he tried to recognize the people sitting on the floor next to him. He seemed tired even with this simple reflex action. He moved his head, opened his mouth again and whispered a breathy, almost inaudible word:

"D... Donna...?"

"It's me, Doctor! It's me! It's Donna!"

"Donna Noble...? My... Donna...?"

"Yes! Oh, yes! Yes, Doctor, it's me!"

"What... what... where...?"

"Shush, shush now, don't speak, shush.'

"Donna... You're not... It's not... What's going on?" He finally managed to focus his gaze on her, and now his eyes were wide with surprise and fear. "What are you doing here? Jack? What is she... Donna? You're not here. You can't be... Can't... Can't-youcan't-youcan't..."

"We need to take you closer to the light, Doctor." It was Martha's voice, quite calm and decisive. Doctor Jones, always able to come to grips with the situation. Donna looked up, and saw Martha standing behind her, hands on her hips, head cocked, twist of jet black hair jutting up from hurriedly made top-knot. "Jack, can you manage?"

"Sure."

And why shouldn't he? Donna thought that since their last meeting the Doctor lost the last of physicality, turning into some ghostly apparition. No weight, no meat on those bones, just messy hair falling over large, dark eyes, and a little spark of will that still kept him alive. Silently, she started crying again.

Jack lifted the Doctor with ease, as if he was carrying a baby. Metal mesh resounded under his heavy boots.

"There," Martha pointed to the floor next to the central column. She put Jack's coat there. "Put him down. There's no time."

"Out of time," said the Doctor quietly. "Me... a Time Lord... Just... how pathetic is that...?"

"Oh!" Martha unbuttoned the Doctor's suit and shirt and flinched at the sight of the wound in his chest. "Oh, that's... It's gonna be fine," she restrained herself almost immediately. "Doctor? It's gonna be just fine, you'll see."

"He pierced my heart," whispered the Doctor.

"You have another one." Martha gave him a weak smile while covering the wound with bandages, handed to her by Ianto.

The Doctor groaned, tautened and coughed. Blood appeared in corners of his mouth.

"But maybe you should... you know... regenerate," Martha suggested. Her chin was trembling. Although she tried to hide it, her face reflected hopelessness. She had looked the same before, when the Doctor had held dying Jenny in his arms.

"Yes." He coughed again and his eyes rolled under his eyelids.

"He's not strong enough!" called Donna, again accessing alien, burning memories. "All the energy... burned out... used up. He can't regenerate, oh, he won't be able to!"

"Donna,' Martha grabbed her hand with bloodstained fingers. "Can _you_ do something?"

"Do... what? Donna? Do what?"

Ignoring the Doctor's urgent whispers, Donna kneeled down quickly, and put her hand over his icy forehead. She outstretched the other arm, until her fingers touched the alien metal of TARDIS's core covers. She closed her eyes.

"No," said the Doctor weakly. "Don't."

It rushed through her again, the gigantic wave, the vortex, time and space, all the _maybes_ and _iffs_, endless possibilities, paradoxes and truths, beginnings and ends, fixed points and floating events, names and places, dates, deaths and sorrows, memories so ancient, they had no form, no vision, and precognitions of futures so distant, she could not grasp their meaning. And she was the Creator and the Destroyer, Love and Hate, Life and Death, she was Rose. And she was a Time Lord, with all the knowledge and all the pain. Timeless as the Universe. Powerful as a God. Burning in her tight flesh, burning with eternal flame of the time vortex, getting crazier by the minute, happy as she had never been before, sad to the extent she could never imagine. _I am a Time Lord... Burn with me... And I divide them... It's gone, it's gone, it's gone, it's gone... Everything must die... Molto Bene... They always survive... Run... Every man is a sum of his memories... Bad Wolf... No, don't..._

Donna's arms ignited with gold and orange blaze. After a while all her body was surrounded by unearthly light, swirling like an airy veil; strands of her hair floating around her face, as if she fell into a shaft of hot air. Her wide opened eyes were nothing but flame. Bright glow moved down her hand towards the Doctor, enclosing him in the radiant cocoon. Donna tilted her head, opened her mouth and started screaming, exhaling waves of golden light.

Jack rolled away and, half-lying on the floor, covered his eyes with his forearm. Gwen and Ianto cowered under the walls, completely blinded by the blaze flowing from the TARDIS's cockpit, through Donna and into the Doctor. Martha was the only one to keep presence of mind, or the only one brave enough to come closer, pneumatic syringe full of Amnesia clutched in her trembling hand.

"That's enough, sweetheart," she said gently, pressing the syringe to Donna's neck. "You've found him. That's enough."

She squeezed the trigged and contents of the Amnesia phial was injected straight into the other woman's carotid, almost instantly extinguishing golden light, interrupting the amazing energy transfusion, closing Donna's eyes and submerging her in a deep, unnatural sleep.

* * *


	17. Snow White

**Disclaimer:** _This journey was possible because of wonderful people who created the Doctor Who universe and who keep surprising us with new ideas and visions with every episode of the series. They own all the rigts and rightfully so. My story is just a homage paid to them._

* * *

**.17. Snow White**

* * *

One last thing to do was to say "Goodbye".

Mickey watched the Doctor closely. A wound in his chest had healed within exceptionally short time (of course Mickey had no idea what speed of healing should be exceptional for of a Time Lord; still, he didn't think that three days in bed were a high price to pay for a heart pierced by a sharp outgrowth of the chitin extremity; even if one had _two_ hearts). The Doctor was still very weak and pale. He had black circles under his eyes. He walked towards the Freezer slowly, with effort; left arm held stiffly by his side to protect the wound – just scared over.

"Are you sure you don't wanna stay, Doctor?"

"Absolutely." The Doctor shook his head. "You know me. I can't stand in one place. Let alone lie down."

"Jack will shoot me, when he finds out," moaned Mickey.

"He'll miss if you keep dodging really quickly."

"Ha-ha, very funny! And don't think that we are ok. We'll talk about it."

"About what?"

"You start travelling in time and space, and before you know you forget to call or visit. I know, it's all so ordinary, yes? So plain. But, Doctor, _it's home_."

"It is not _my_ home."

"Yeah, yeah, keep pretending." Mickey pulled a face. "You have a _family_ here, and _it is_ your home."

"I'm not... especially... domestic... or familial," said the Doctor weakly.

"Sure." Mickey walked down the corridor, without looking back at the Doctor. "You know what, it's all rubbish. You think I don't know how it is, but I know. I know. The difference between the two of us is that I'm not running anymore. I mean, I did run, once, when I stayed behind in Pete's World, but not anymore. It may not be my _real_ family and my _real_ home, but I'm intending to stay."

"Does it mean I should call more often?"

"It means you should _call_," laughed Mickey. "And... find somebody, eh? Because you are complete rubbish on your own."

The Doctor stopped for a moment, leaning against the wall. Mickey looked back, alarmed, and noticed the Doctor's weird, thoughtful look.

"What?"

"Do you want to travel with me?" asked the Doctor. Mickey was considering his proposition for a while, before he shook his head.

"No. No offence, but... no." He sighed deeply. "You'll just land on some planet again and at once there'll be running and saving the whole world and this or that. But it won't be my world. Maybe Rose could deal with it all, but I can't. Those times and places... They're not mine. I can't worry about it all... and fight for it all... when I have so much to do here, on Earth."

The Doctor sent him a crooked smile.

"I understand... Ah, and... eeem... Don't tell anyone I asked, will you?"

"Only if you won't tell I refused."

"Mickey Smith, the Protector of the Earth," said the Doctor. Mickey started pulling faces already, preparing a sharp riposte, when he noticed warmth and approval in the Doctor's voice. He shrugged.

"Yeah... I think so... Yes," he murmured. "Well, let's just go, let's have it done."

He opened the Freezer's door for the Doctor. On the other side, with his hands on his hips and with head tiled slightly to one side, waited Jack Harkness. Mickey took half a step backwards.

"Didn't I tell you?" he moaned. "Now he's gonna shoot me."

"I'll whack you, at most," corrected Jack.

"So, you're looking for a companion, Doctor," he turned to the man standing behind Mickey. The Doctor raised his eyebrows. Jack shrugged slightly. "Voice really carries in these corridors."

"I'm _not_ looking for a companion," answered the Doctor.

"Are you subtly implying you're not interested?" Jack laughed.

"_Subtly_?" responded the Doctor immediately and Mickey let out a quiet chuckle.

"At least you're not running away when you see me, anymore," Harkness consoled himself.

"I gather it's not a common reaction?"

"Hmm, thanks God, so far, most of the time I'm the chased one."

"And keep deluding yourself," murmured Mickey.

"You attract trouble and I attract trouble," said the Doctor, giving Jack a pale smile. "Two trouble attracting anomalies onboard the last TARDIS in the universe? It cannot end well."

"I have Torchwood, you know," answered Jack. "I have my team. I can't leave them. I must take care of this here _Protector of the Earth_ (Mickey instantly jumped away from Jack, who tried to give him a bear-like hug). And I'm no anomaly. Have you come here to bid farewell to Donna?"

The Doctor hesitated.

"Farewell. Not... _farewell_. It doesn't sound right: _farewell_. There must be some other word, some other..."

"To _part_?" said Mickey. His face was serious, tense. He reached his hand and gently patted the sleeve of the Doctor's suit.

Jack moved a step away, letting the Doctor in into the Freezer. Donna's sarcophagus occupied the centre of the room – large, battered box, resembling a deep-freezer, which would made sense if not the advanced technology used for this unique machine. Moving closer, the Doctor saw Donna through its frosted glass – she lay there motionless, breathless, marble white, crowned with fiery hair, wrapped in tubes and wires – a cyberpunk Snow White in her glass coffin, awaiting a futuristic fairytale prince. But there were neither princess nor fairytales in Donna Noble's life. The only unusual story, with such a prosaic beginning – of choosing a direction at a T-junction – turned into a nightmare, which deprived her of her memories, normalcy, maybe life.

Donna Noble, who had saved all the universes.

Donna Noble, who had saved the Doctor, _oooh_, in so many ways and so many times.

Donna Noble rested here in her icy coffin, waiting against all hope for a kiss of life.

The Doctor swayed and had to hold on to the sarcophagus's lid. It was so cold his hands hurt. Jack immediately grabbed his arm, but the Doctor pushed him away, irritated.

"She said the world was cracked?" he asked dryly. "That adaptations were seeping through rifts?"

Harkness nodded tentatively.

"She said many weird things."

"All in all, she was rambling exactly like _you_," added Mickey.

"Something had happened," said the Doctor thoughtfully. "Something had happened and she felt it. Adam mentioned a _time slide_, three seconds of anomaly which got him into the past. And Donna was answering questions _before_ you asked. These are echoes, Jack. These are waves of some event, and I have to localise it before it is too late."

Jack apparently wanted to say something, but reconsidered it and simply nodded his head. Mickey shifted from one leg to the other, rubbed palms together and stuffed his hands into his pockets. He opened and closed his mouth. He opened it again but could not force himself to speak up. The Doctor looked at him, eyebrows raised.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"I can see it's _something_, Mickey."

"It's nothing... I mean... Nothing." Mickey bit his lips. "But... You're _doing_ it again, Doctor! You're _always_ doing it! Always. You... You just leave. As you've left Rose..."

"Mickey, don't..." There was suddenly a lot of pain in the Doctor's voice.

"But it's _true_! You'll choose some _timelordly_ escape route and don't you dare to deny it! Magicking a human twin? All for her? And what about _you_?"

"I'm all right." Doctor smiled weakly, but Mickey, exasperated, raised his voice and was almost screaming now.

"No! You'll say you're all right, and you'll get inside this box of yours, and you'll do something damn stupid again, because it's not all right; nothing is; and you the least of it all! You said goodbye and you jumped onboard the TARDIS just to get yourself _killed_!"

The Doctor sighed.

"I've got used to being alone," he said. "I've learned how to loose people, how to say goodbye, how to leave them behind, or how to look at them growing old and dying. I'm a Time Lord, Mickey. I'm an alien."

"And we are dumb monkeys!" countered Mickey immediately. "So what? At least we don't play comedy! We don't pretend that the whole universe rests upon our shoulders, because the universe doesn't rest upon anybody's damn shoulders, and you're no exception, and you can feel bad if someone you like lies here, frozen, and you can't save her as she's saved you, and of course you're changing the subject, and you pretend you have so much to do, all those _rifts_ and _anomalies_, but in true you just want to slip out of here and again be..."

"Mickey, shut up," quietly advised Jack.

For a long time the Doctor stood still, looking through the thick sarcophagus's glass at Donna's face. Finally he shrugged his shoulders and stuck his hands inside his pockets.

"Yeaaaah..." he said. "I think I'll just... then..."

"Right... Sure you will..." answered Mickey, embarrassed.

"It reminds me that I have something for you." Harkness saved them both. He dived into the shadow behind the sarcophagus and emerged again holding soft, beige coat. "Not original, but for a copy it is perfect."

"A coat point two?" The Doctor smiled.

"So you know you don't have an exclusive on copy making."

"Thanks."

"And about this... Adam." Harkness knitted his brow. "Who do you think they are? Those... Lords of his?"

"Well... The first time I met him, there was a Dalek there." The Doctor put the coat on and looked down at himself turning slightly in the spot. His tone became light-hearted again. "Adam gained all his knowledge onboard the Crucible. I think we can safely assume that the Daleks are involved in one way or the other."

"You don't seem to worry."

"It's just inevitable, don't you think? I'd have to be blind, deaf and stupid to think I got rid of them. I never will. I've tried everything, Jack, I'd rewritten their history, I'd killed them all, and yet they came back. So, yes, I think it might be them. And I think we will meet again. And we will fight. But not today. Today I have other things to think about. Other things to do. I don't have time to worry about damn, mean, cosmic pepper pots."

"No, you really don't," smiled Jack.

"I have to tie all loose ends." The Doctor opened the coat and from his pocket he took out a small, battered machine, with three round brushes at the bottom and a lens at the top. "One _cheap trick_. This shouldn't take too long."

"A cheap trick?" repeated Jack without understanding. The Doctor winked at him.

"Cell 7B. Wednesdays and Fridays."

"What is it?" asked Mickey.

"A little, clever machine," answered the Doctor. "A small mechanical deck cleaner. Basically a hoover. Bigger on the inside."

For the last time he looked at Donna, sleeping peacefully in her crystal coffin. He tossed the hoover up, caught it in the air and strode towards the corridor.

"See, time is not a straight progression of cause to effect, past to future," he said as he walked. "There can be a _past-future-continuous_, and a _past-simply-undone_, and a _not-so-present-as-you-may-think _time. If you know how, you can run along its lines, or across them, cutting them and bending them to your will. And I plan to do it. One _cheap trick_. And then one very, _very dear_."

Behind his back Jack and Mickey exchanged glances.

* * *

**THE END OF EPISODE ONE**

THE VIRTUAL SEASON FIVE CONTINUES IN EPISODE TWO

**THE ART OF FORGETTING**

* * *

"I don't understand it." The Doctor runs his fingers through his hair. "I just don't get it."

"Oh, don't give up so easily," says Donna.

"Easily?! You call it _easy_?!"

***

Ood Theta faces the Doctor in a deserted corridor.

"Ooooh," says the Doctor, surprised and sad. "Don't tell me nothing has changed. Nothing? You still have to... serve?"

***

Ood Kappa talks to Theta.

"Humans' song has ended. There's nobody left but us."

***

Donna, dressed in a long robe, hair braided, sword in outstretched hands, stands by the lake, facing two boys.

"What are you looking at, _prawn_? Are you going to take it or not, I do not plan to stay here overnight."

***

The Doctor runs through the thick forest. Something invisible follows him with a horrible noise of crushed bushes and trees. The Doctor stumbles and falls to the ground. His hair is damp with sweat, he breathes heavily. He looks up, terrified...

***

"And _you_!" The Doctor points accusing finger towards Donna, relaxing on the sofa with a blasé expression on her face. "You have no _right_ to be here!"

* * *

**AND IN OTHER EPISODES OF THE VIRTUAL SEASON FIVE**

* * *

"This is – honestly – this is _wizard_! Don't you think? _Wizard_! Donna Noble, citizen of the Earth, from Chiswick, London, in _EDEN_!"

The way she accented the last word suggested she found herself in an actual Paradise.

"Mmm..." said the Doctor.

***

"We're in Middle Ages!" he yelled.

"Well, you should have parked her better," teased Donna.

"What?!"

"The TARDIS."

"_What?!_"

***

The whole Freezer shook; a net of cracks appeared on the wall in which the TARDIS had stuck while materialising. Martha could hear explosions in the Hub's main hall, containing the Rift Manipulator. Lamps above her head lightened up as if fed by a too high voltage and intensity of electric current. One after another, light bulbs started to burst, sowing sparks and gradually submerging the Freezer in the semidarkness of emergency lights.

"_No_!" yelled Jack.

"_Yes_!" the Doctor yelled back.

***

"This is Rubik's Cube! The one and only, real, original Rubik's Cube!"

"Yeaaah." Donna wrapped herself up with the sheepskin coat and stamped her feet. "And I'm an _Ice_ Cube. _Again_!"

***

In the light of the oil lamp Donna's eyes grew large and glossy. From behind a window she could hear cries, sobbing, horses' neighing, clatter of hammers nailing up next doors, bell-ringing and voices of criers: "Bring out your dead!"

***

"Everyone is waiting, General."

The woman sitting in a large, white room, with windows overlooking the city and the mountain range in the distance, under darkening burnt orange skies, turned away from the mirror and slowly got up from her chair. She touched the folds of her long, glimmering robe with a tall, stiff collar holding up her minutely styled, fiercely red hair.

"Oh, no, please, not '_General_'," she said. "Donna. Just Donna."

***

"What have you done, Doctor?" asked Jack, sudden understanding in his voice. "What have you done?"

***

"Blimey!" said Donna hesitantly. "The dream I've had!"

***


End file.
